Faults in Personality
by AColorfulMind
Summary: Etheldrea Holmes has always looked past the bullies. There was never any reason to feel angered by them. But after a friendship with Abigail Grey and John Watson, her ways of thinking are changing, and her emotions are going whack. She's trying to rein them in as her father tracks a mysterious bomber, but are sixteen years worth of repressed emotions going to damage her?
1. The Great Game Part 1

** Sequel to The Detective's Daughter.**

**I don't own anything pertain to BBC Sherlock or ACD Sherlock. Etheldrea Wisteria Holmes, Abigail Tracey Grey, and Adam Hansen Grey are my original characters. Model Emily Rudd (Etheldrea), Actress Anna Sophia Robb (Abigail), and Actor Sterling Knight (Adam) are the face models for the characters. **

It was early morning, and pouring rain in London. The city was just waking up, but a few members had been awake for a while now. Inside the flat of 221B Baker Street, a man was getting ready to leave. His flat mate and his daughter were not and still dressed in their pajamas.

"I'll be back later tonight." Sherlock Holmes said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

Etheldrea Holmes leaned against the door looking annoyed. Dr. John Watson sat in a red chair typing away on his laptop.

"I still don't see why I can't go." Etheldrea mumbled, "It's not like I'll miss anything at school."

"It's not about school." Sherlock told her, "It's about your gender. A prison filled with forty years old plus criminals; imagine all the street harassment you'd receive. I'll not have you there causing a distraction."

"But it's not like that can't happen here."

Sternly looking at her, "Etheldrea, I said no."

She puffed, walked to her room muttering, "Fine, didn't want to go to Belarus anyway. Boring there, and too cold."

John laughed, "She can be such a child sometimes. Anyway, good luck. We'll see you later."

Sherlock nodded, and left. A few moments later, Etheldrea emerged dressed for the day, with her purple scarf, and black trench coat. Her brown messenger bag rested at her side. She prepared to leave but stopped as John called her.

"Leaving before breakfast?"

"I'm fine John."

"Well I'm not. Now sit down and I'll make you some toast."

"Don't you have work?"

"Not for another hour. Now sit."

John bustled around the kitchen, prepping the toast and making tea. Making breakfast was a usual habit for him nowadays. Etheldrea may be like her father, but he wasn't going to let her have the same diet as her father. She was far too skinny as it was, and once or twice he wondered if she might have an eating disorder. Thankfully, it wasn't the case, but it had scared him in the beginning.

The toast popped, and he plated it. Then he set in front of her and sat down with his tea.

"How's school going?" he asked.

"Terrible, as usual."

"Is that Downing girl still bothering you?"

"She is, but I can handle her."

"You shouldn't _have_ to handle her."

Etheldrea shook her head, "Teenagers are hormonal things John. Amplifies emotions, and anger is directed at the most abnormal person. You're a doctor, you know that."

She stood and placed her empty plate in the sink, then adjusted her bag, and walked out to the landing.

"Etheldrea, you aren't abnormal-"

"Spare me the lie. I am, and I'm quite proud to be. Ordinary is so dull."

"Oh so I'm dull?"

"You find joy solving cases with my father and I, you are far from ordinary. Have a good day John; I'll see you this afternoon."

Saying goodbye, he returned to his tea, and Etheldrea headed to school. She took a cab, and arrived minutes later. Avoiding the rain, she sprinted up the steps and entered the building.

The moment the door closed, she was grabbed by the arm and hauled off towards the right hallway. She tried to pull away but her captors, Raquel Downing and Jenn O'Kelly, held a tight grip. They pushed her into the girl's bathroom and shoved her to the floor.

In the bathroom, three other girls who Etheldrea couldn't recall their names stood holding buckets. Before anyone said anything, the girls upturned the buckets and drenched her with water. Then, they ran out of the bathroom, laughing the entire time.

Shivering, Etheldrea stood up and checked herself over. Her coat, thank god, had a water resistant lining which stopped her shirt and waist from soaking. However, the legs of her trousers were soaked through, and so was her messenger bag. Her folders, notebooks, and her copy of _The Turn of the Screw_ were sodden too.

She calmly walked out of the girl's room, and towards the office. A few students in there snickered when they saw her, prompting the secretary to look up.

"Miss Holmes, you're dripping. Can you please go out to the mats and dry yourself."

"I was pulled into the bathrooms by Raquel Downing and Jennifer O'Kelly. Waiting for me were three other girls whom I don't know with buckets. They dumped them on me, and then fled the room."

"Did you not hear me? Go out and wring out your coat. Then come back and we'll set up a complaint."

She clenched her teeth, and turned around. After doing as the secretary instructed, she returned.

"That's better. Now, you said a few girls did this to you? How can we be sure it wasn't the rain?"

"Well, there are security cameras for a reason."

As if it were a pain, the secretary sighed and stood up. She walked towards the principal's office and motioned for Etheldrea to follow her.

"Sir, Etheldrea believes some girls pulled her into the bathroom and dumped water on her. She wants us to check the cameras to see who did it."

Mr. Dwaine nodded, "Well, let's see. When did this happen?"

"About ten minutes ago." Etheldrea said.

Mr. Dwaine grabbed a remote and pointed it at a screen to the left of his desk. Etheldrea could see the screen divided into four parts, each camera at the entrances and exits of the building. The footage rewound back to the moment Etheldrea walked in. He pressed play, and they watched as two figures grabbed her, and pulled her down the hall.

That was the only footage of the attack, and Etheldrea knew she was screwed.

"Now Miss Holmes, there are several things that could have happened out of the camera's eye." Mr. Dwaine started, "Do you have any evidence that your story is true?"

She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and said, "No."

Then she turned and walked out of the office. At her locker, she hung up her scarf and coat, and set her books down to dry, although it wouldn't help much locked inside a dark place. As she stepped back and closed her locker, hands shoved her into the wall. Down the hall, a couple boys ran away as they laughed.

* * *

The rest of her day went just as well. In first period, from the twin brother of her friend, Abigail Grey, she discovered was out sick, so she had no one to talk with. Every break period she was pushed along until she got to her class. When lunch came around, she would have hid in the bathrooms except that Raquel Downing and her friends were heading in that direction.

The lunch room was nothing but hostile, and no teacher would let her sit in the classroom. Her only option left was outside, where it was still raining. Her next periods went the same as always, and by the time her final class had finished, she had had enough.

The bell rang and she practically sprinted to her locker, glad to be out. Her scarf was slightly damp still, and her jacket was a bit worse from lunch. Still, she swung them on and closed her locker. She felt the presence before she saw it and before she could duck out of the way, another bucket of water slashed over her head. Hands heaved her into the lockers, and she responded by kicking her attackers leg out. She recognised him as Stephen Parks while he lay on the ground.

Now, all students in the area were glaring at her, and a few even moved towards her. Gripping her bag, she ran down the hall and out the school. She made it out of the grounds and down the street before she slowed down. Checking behind her, she saw no one following after her and sighed in relief.

"Miss Holmes would you like a ride?" a voice called out.

She turned and saw Anthea standing a few feet away next to the black car. She hadn't even noticed the car. Etheldrea considered walking home as the rain had stopped a while ago, but the wind picked up and she shivered. She hurried to the car and got in. After she buckled, Anthea handed her a white handkerchief.

"What's this for?"

"To dry your face."

"To dry-?"

When she touched her cheek, she was surprised to feel dampness. When had she started crying? She hadn't cried since primary school. She wiped the tears away, and handed the handkerchief back.

"Mr. Holmes would like to know if anyone needs to be mutilated or maimed in anyway."

"Tell Uncle Mycroft to leave it alone. They're teenage bullies, not convicted criminals."

"They could be."

"Leave it. I can handle it on my own."

"Personally Miss Holmes, I don't think it should be your job to handle. The school-"

"The school won't do anything because I'm a know-it-all. Besides, it's just another two months and one week. Summer starts and I'm free for a little while."

"But then it begins again."

"And I'll handle it when the time comes."

The car stopped at Baker Street, and she hurried inside. John was inside, now sat in the red chair. He looked up as she passed by to go to her room.

"How was school?" he called.

"The usual." She replied back.

She stripped off her scarf and jacket, placing them near the heat by her bed. The top collar of her shirt was wet from the water, and she quickly changed into a different top. Her pants were mostly dry aside from small splotches here and there. Then she placed her materials by the heater as well.

John had walked in as she did that and looked at her questionably. Then he noticed her wet hair.

"Etheldrea, what happened at school?"

"Nothing of importance."

"What I'm looking at right now says different. The rain stopped two hours ago, so I know something's up."

"This morning, some girls thought it would be funny to drag me to the bathroom, and dump water on me. Then to repeat the act after school."

John looked shocked, "How could they do that? That's absolutely barbaric! They got detention, right?"

"Of course not. I couldn't prove that it was them, so they got off scot-free."

"Oh Etheldrea," he sighed, giving her a hug, "I'm sorry. Tomorrow you should get your father down there and talk to the principle."

Awkwardly, she returned the hug, "Dad's not exactly welcomed there."

"You mean he's not allowed?"

"Well, no, but the situation would just be made worse if he tried to talk to the principle. He's insulted one too many teachers for his word to be valid."

"He would, wouldn't he? I can go-"

"Absolutely not. Even if it was dad, I would protest. Believe me John, I've dwelt with worse."

He looked a bit defeated, "Come on, dry your hair, and we'll see if Mrs. Hudson is doing anything important."

They traveled downstairs to visit the landlady. John explained what had happened, and the three spent the afternoon together watching crap telly. Etheldrea had rolled her eyes at first, but after a few minutes, was slowly dragged into the drama on the screen. Often, she was shouting deductions at the screen and mad when everything went all wrong. John could only imagine what would happen if Sherlock started watching it with them. Soon, he left to go shopping, leaving the women alone to watch Connie Prince.

"Do her tips actually work?" Etheldrea asked.

"Oh yes. I should never where cerise. Apparently, it drains me."

Etheldrea looked at Mrs. Hudson's lavender dress, and imagined it was cerise.

"She's right."

As they watched, Etheldrea heard the front door open. John had been gone as long as it took him to get to the store, so she assumed it was her dad. She stood up, and went to check, with Mrs. Hudson following her. As he placed something in the fridge, the girls greeted Sherlock.

"How did the case go?" Etheldrea asked.

"Fine. He murdered her, open and shut case."

"Not worth traveling, was it?"

"Not in the slightest. Now I'm bored. There weren't any interesting cases while I was gone, were there?"

"None at all."

"Did _anything_ happen to today?"

"Nope. It's been a rather boring day."

Mrs. Hudson tutted, "Now I wouldn't say that. School was-"

"Like I said, nothing happened today."

Etheldrea walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed a random book, and then went to sit on the sofa. She peaked over the top and saw Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock speaking in a whisper. Every now and then, Sherlock would glance back at her.

Mrs. Hudson left after making sure the father and daughter were cared for. Sherlock went to his room and changed into some more comfortable clothes, and then paced around the room. John came back a while later, and began put the groceries away after welcoming Sherlock home. Sherlock took to sitting in his chair, fiddling with John's gun while he wasn't looking.

Halfway through putting the groceires away, Mrs. Hudson came up again and asked John for help outside. She had forgotten to bring the chairs and tables into the café after closing. As soon as he was gone, Sherlock began to shot at the wall above Etheldrea's head. She rolled her eyes and glanced at the yellow smiley face Sherlock had made a few days prior.

"Nice shot." She muttered, going back to her reading.

"Thanks." He said, shooting some more.

John came in, his hands over his ears, and shouted, "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Bored." He mumbled softly.

"What?"

"BORED!"

"No-"

"BORED! Bored!"

Sherlock stood and shot at the wall again, twisting form his front to his back. Etheldrea didn't even flinch, acting as if the bullets whizzing about her head were nothing more annoying than buzzing bees. John grabbed the gun and emptied the clip as Sherlock walked over to the sofa and laid down next to Etheldrea.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."

"So you take it out on the wall?"

Sherlock sighed, "The wall had it coming."

"What about that Russian case?"

"Belarus? Open and shut murder. Not worth my time."

"Oh shame." John said, heading back into eh kitchen to finish putting the shopping away.

Etheldrea heard the fridge open, and then the sound of John cursing.

"A severed head!" John called.

"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock said.

"No, there's a head in the fridge."

"Yes?"

"A bloody head!"

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?"

"Well . . ."

"Got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case."

"Er, yes."

"_A Study in Pink_. Nice."

"Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

"Um . . . no."

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the stupid little domestic that had begun, but it was far too funny.

"Flattered?! 'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about something's.'"

"Now hang on a minute, I didn't mean that-"

"Oh you mean 'spectacularly ignorant in a nice way? Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or who's sleeping with whom."

"Whether the earth goes around the sun."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes as Sherlock sat up.

"Not that again! It's not important!"

"Not impor- It's primary school stuff. How can you both not know it?"

"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it."

"Same." Etheldrea mumbled.

"Deleted it?"

"Listen." Sherlock pointed to his head, "This is my hard drive and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. _Really_ useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

John bit his lip and seemed cautious to answer, "But it's the solar system!"

"Oh hell! What does that matter? So we go round the sin. If we went round the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better yet, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

With that, Sherlock twisted and pouted into the side of the couch. Etheldrea chuckled and shook her head, and then ran a hand through his hair.

"Etheldrea, do you agree?" John asked.

"Everything my dad just said applies to me too. Sorry."

"Right."

John stood and walked over to get his jacket. Sherlock and Etheldrea looked up at him, confused.

"Where are you going?"

"Out! I need some air."

Mrs. Hudson walked up the steps in to the flat, knocking on the door, "Woo-hoo! Have you three had a little domestic?"

"It was mainly them." Etheldrea pointed out, "I just sat here and laughed to myself."

Sherlock stood and walked on the coffee table, and then to the window. Mrs. Hudson bustled around the kitchen. Etheldrea stood up and went by her father. She watched as john crossed the street and continued down until he disappeared from view.

"It's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Mrs. Hudson said.

As he surveyed the outside Sherlock said, "Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Calm. Quiet. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful?"

"I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder. That'll cheer you up."

"Can't come too soon."

Etheldrea smirked, "Can't wait."

"Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall? I'm putting this on your rent young man."

Mrs. Hudson left them, and Sherlock turned and walked to the center of the room as he smiled at the wall. Etheldrea took a seat at the desk and watched as he sighed.

There was a flash of light, and then chaos around them. A large boom shook the street, blowing out the windows, and throwing Sherlock and Etheldrea to the floor.


	2. The Great Game Part 2

The next morning, Etheldrea woke up and got dressed. In the living room, glass still covered the floor, but now there were pieces of brown paper over the windows. Last night after the dust had settle, she got up and checked on her dad. He was fine, as was Mrs. Hudson. The only fatalities were a small cut across Etheldrea's arm, and Sherlock had a minor headache.

As she left the flat, she noticed a black car park a few blocks away. Mycroft Holmes was walking towards her, his ever present umbrella swinging to and fro.

"Etheldrea, good morning." He greeted.

"Morning Uncle Mycroft. Whatever you've got planned, dad's busy."

"I highly doubt that, my dear."

Etheldrea shook her head and continued walking. At the main road, she grabbed a cab and arrived at school. She had texted Abigail, and learned she would be out for another day.

Cautiously, she walked up the steps and opened the door. No one came to grab her, and she made it to her locker in peace. She deposited the things she didn't need and made it to her class without any problem either. In her usual seat at the back of the classroom, she pulled out a book and began to read.

"Uh, excuse me." A woman's voice asked, "I'm looking for Mrs. Bloor's lesson's plans. Do you know where she keeps them?"

Etheldrea looked over the substitute. She was relatively young, but every educated. Her badge identified her as Jeannette Chaplin, an English Literature teacher at one of the sixth form colleges.

"The cupboard under her desk, she usually keeps it there."

"Thanks. What's your name?"

"Etheldrea Holmes."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Miss Chaplin."

Miss Chaplin turned and looked for the lesson book, which we found just as the first bell rang. Students filed in, took their seats, and the substitute stood at the board.

"Hello, I'm Miss Chaplin. I'm sure you guessed that Mrs. Bloor is out for today. I'll go through roll call, and we'll get started."

Etheldrea focused on her book, paying enough attention to call out here when her name was called. The lesson began and Etheldrea faded out.

_. . . Holmes._

_Miss . . ._

_. . . Miss Holmes! . . ._

Etheldrea looked up and saw all eyes on her. Miss Chaplin was looking far less than impressed.

"Sorry Miss Chaplin, what was the question?"

"Can you explain the importance of honor in _Much Ado about Noting_."

"In Shakespeare's time, a woman's honor was based on virginity, while a man's was based on his friendship and alliance, and fighting behavior. It was nearly impossible to restore her honor once it was lost, but a man could dual another to restore it."

"Excellent. Mr. Bell, what do you believe . . .?"

Etheldrea tuned everything out again. Eventually, the bell rang and Etheldrea walked out the door as fast as she could. Before she was eve half-way to her destination, a hand pulled the back of her coat. She slammed into the lockers, and faced her attacker.

Stephen Parks, the boy she had knocked down yesterday was staring her down. His fists were raised, and he was clearly asking for a fight. However, she turned and continued walking down the hall, ignoring him.

"This isn't the eighteenth century, I'm not afraid to fight a girl."

She still ignored him.

"Chicken, Holmes? I'd expect as much from you. Afraid to get a little bruised. I'm sure it's from the damage your dad does to you."

She stopped, and turned around, "What are you implying."

"Come on Holmes, everyone knows your father's abusive. We've seen him fight, and we've seen his temper. It can't be that hard to set him off. And using your 'special' abilities, it can't be hard to guess who he lashes out at. Of course, what can you expect from a druggie?"

Etheldrea saw red, and she tore into him. She had him up against the locker, one hand on his shoulder, and one arm pressed against his collar.

She hissed, "Listen here, you little sh-"

"Etheldrea Holmes! Back away from him this instant!" a teacher shouted.

She back up, and looked over, but that was a mistake. Parks punched her in the jaw, and she fell back on the floor.

"Miss Holmes, get up. Come on now. Principles office, both of you."

Reluctantly, she stood, and brushed herself off. When she touched her lip, there was minor ache and a bit of blood. The teacher led them down to the office, and sat them down on the bench. A minute later, she was called into the office.

Etheldrea stood, walked in, and took a seat in front of the desk. Mr. Dwaine sighed and looked her over.

"Miss Holmes, this is the first time in five months you've been here for fighting. But this is still the eighth warning you've received. You know what that means."

"Suspension." She muttered, "Five days."

"I'm sorry, but we can't tolerate this behavior."

"What about the other students, you really can't think I'm the one bulling others? I try my best to avoid them if I can."

"We'll take care of Mr. Parks, if that's what you're worried about. Ms. Coolie saw the punch and agreed it wasn't self-defense. He'll receive a detention."

"What about the other students, the ones who have been getting off punishment for years?"

"Miss Holmes, please, go gather your things. We'll contact your guardian to come pick you up."

Etheldrea stood up, and hurried to her locker. She grabbed her things, and then walked to the front door. Already, her Uncle was there to get her. He handed her a handkerchief that was slightly soaked with water. She dabbed at her lip as they rode.

"It wasn't my fault." Etheldrea mumbled.

Mycroft assured her, "I know, dear."

"Please don't do anything though."

"And why not? You are a Holmes, Etheldrea, and you don't deserve this kind of treatment."

"No one else in the world has relatives like mine. Why should I have any special privilege?"

"It's _because of_ who you are that you have special privileges."

"Well it's annoying. I'm a teenager, not a _princess_. Why are we going to Scotland Yard?" she questioned as they pulled up to the doors.

"Your father is there."

"I told you this morning, busy, busy, busy."

He rolled his eyes, "Goodbye Etheldrea. Do try to stay out of trouble."

She smirked, "Of course Uncle dear."

She handed back the handkerchief and stepped out. Inside Scotland Yard, she walked to Lestrade's office where a worker had pointer her towards. She stood at the side of door way, unnoticed and listened in on the middle of their conversation.

Her dad was saying, "Supposed to look like- _A Study in Pink_, you read his blog?"

"Of course I read his blog. We all do. Do you really not know the earth goes around the sun?"

Donavan snickered as John looked down, embarrassed.

"It's isn't the same phone. This one's brand new. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means your blog has a far wider readership."

From the phone, _"You have one new message."_

PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP

"Was that it?" john asked.

"No, that's not it."

Sherlock pulled something up on the phone, and the others crowed around it.

"What in the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips."

"It's a warning." Sherlock said.

"A warning?"

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, and things like that – five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again."

Sherlock shook the phone and turned towards the door, "I've seen this place before."

"Hang on. What's going to happen again?"

"Boom!"

As they walked out of the office, John was the first to notice her.

"Etheldrea? What are you doing here?" he asked as they tried to keep up with Sherlock's pace.

"Uh . . . suspension."

"From school? What happened? Why is your lip bloody?"

"Later. What's going on?"

"Etheldrea . . . fine. That explosion on Baker Street wasn't a gas problem. Someone left a box with an envelope for your dad inside the flats. In the envelope was a pink phone, and on the phone was a picture of someplace that Sherlock knows."

Etheldrea sat in between Sherlock and John, and Lestrade rode up front. Sherlock had told the driver Baker Street, and that was there destination.

"Alright, so how did you get suspended?"

"Suspended?" Lestrade asked, "Again?"

Etheldrea nodded, "Yes. I pushed a guy up against a locker."

"How did you get the big lip?" John asked.

"He punched me."

"A _guy_ punched you?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, a guy. Stephen Parks."

"Doesn't he have any decency?"

"At my school, no one does. The only reason they're really awful is because Abigail is sick. If she wasn't, they'd stick to verbal abuse."

John questioned, "He started it right? Is he suspended?"

"I'm the one who made the first physical move. No, he didn't get suspended."

"That's not right. Someone needs to go in and talk to them."

"No, they don't. Now, can we please focus on the case?"

"Yes, thank you Etheldrea." Sherlock said.

John looked stunned, "Sherlock! Your _daughter_ was punched at school, she's being bullied."

"Yes, she is. But seeing as how she's been suspended, I choose to focus on something more important, our _bomber_."

The cab pulled up to Baker Street, and they hurried inside. Sherlock led them to the door of 221C and called for Mrs. Hudson. The landlady bustled in and Sherlock asked for the keys. She gave them to him willingly, and he opened the door.

"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat."

"The door's been opened. Recently."

"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs. Hudson attempted conversation with the others, "I can't get anyone to look at this flat. It's the damp, I expect- that's the curse of basements. I had a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the wall . . ."

Sherlock had opened the door and everyone filled in. Cautiously, they walked through the damaged hall and towards a door. It was peeling white paint, and had a rusted knob. Slowly, Sherlock pushed open the door and took a step in.

Etheldrea looked around the busted, dim lit, room. Chipped paint, a worn fireplace, a mirror and scratchy carpet was part of the décor. There was a reason it couldn't sell, it was in desperate need of redecoration.

On the floor, in the dead center of the room was a pair of-

"Trainers? How anti-climactic." Etheldrea muttered.

Sherlock walked around the shoes before lowering himself tot eh ground hear them.

"He's a bomber, remember." John said.

_RING RING RING_

Sherlock stood and took the phone out of his pocket and clicked talk.

"Hello?" he asked softly.

"_H-hello . . . sexy."_ A ragged voice replied,

"Who's this?"

A woman sobbed on the other end, _"I've . . . sent you . . . a little puzzle. Just to say hi."_

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

"_I . . . not crying. I'm typing. And this . . . stupid bitch is reading it out."_

"The curtain rises."

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing."

"No, what did you mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time."

"_Twelve hours . . . to solve my puzzle . . . Sherlock. Or I'm going . . . to be so . . . naughty."_

The woman hung up, and they were given no other clues as what to do. Sherlock pocketed the phone, and picked up the shoes.

"There's nothing else you can do Detective. I suggest you head back to the yard. John, Etheldrea, we're going to Bart's." Sherlock said.

After dropping off her bag, she followed John and Sherlock to a cab, and they rode to the hospital in silence. Once there, they went to the lab and Sherlock got to work. He analyzed the shoes, and removed some dirt samples form them. Then he looked at them through the microscope. He hadn't given the other two a job to do yet. John walked absently around the lab, while Etheldrea sat across from Sherlock and read a book

"So who do you suppose it was?" John asked, standing next to Etheldrea.

"Hmm?"

"The woman on the phone, they crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there."

"For god's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"You're not going to be much used to her."

"Are they trying to trace it- trace the call?"

"The bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock's phone beeped, "Pass me my phone."

"Where is it?"

"Jacket."

Etheldrea looked at John as she watched annoyance on his face. She imagined this was the worst he had to put with yet, and silently applauded his patience as he walked over to her dad. She smirked as John roughly pulled the phone out, much to Sherlock's annoyance.

"Text from your brother."

"Delete it."

"Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country by now. Nothing we can do about it."

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"

"His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk."

"It's true," Etheldrea pointed out, "He loves the sound of his voice."

"Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains, end of story. The only mystery is this- why is my brother so determined to bore me while someone else is being so delightfully interesting?"

"Try and remember there's a woman who might die."

"What for? There's hospitals full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

John looked at Etheldrea, "What do you think?"

Etheldrea shrugged, "It's true. A bit crude but true."

The computer beeped, and Sherlock looked up. At the time, Molly Hooper walked in.

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Ah, yes."

The door opened again, and a man walked in. He had a grey shirt, and beige pants. Etheldrea noticed his hair was a bit greasy, but combed perfectly, and that his underwear was sticking out.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't . . ." he sputtered.

"Jim, hi!" Molly exclaimed, "Come in! Come in. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. And, er . . . Sorry."

"John Watson. Hi."

"Over there is Etheldrea Holmes."

"Nice to meet you." He told her."

"Like wise."

Jim looked at Sherlock, "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

"Gay." Sherlock muttered.

"Sorry, what?"

"Nothing, um, hey."

"Hi." Jim smiled, and then he knocked over a silver dish, "Sorry. Sorry. Well, I better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?"

"Yeah." Molly agreed.

"Bye. It was nice to meet you." He said, looking at Sherlock.

"You too." John said.

As soon as Jim left, Molly asked Sherlock, "What do you mean gay? We're together."

Sherlock sighed, "And domestic bliss must suit you Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half."

"No, three."

"He's not gay! Why do you have to spoil? He's not."

"With that level of personal grooming? Etheldrea saw too, I'm sure."

"Don't bring me into this." She muttered, flipping a page.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John defended.

"You wash your hair, there's a difference. No, no – tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly asked.

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. Plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish."

Sherlock pulled out the slip of paper and showed it to Molly, "I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly turned and ran from the room, and Sherlock watched in confusion.

"Charming, well done." John said.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

"Kinder? No,no. Sherlock _that_ wasn't kind."

Sherlock leaned back, and grabbed one on the shoes, "Go on, then."

"Hmm?"

"You know what I do. Off you go."

John laughed, "No. I'm not going to stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate."

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me."

"What about Etheldrea?"

"I said an outside eye, she and I are practically the same. I have no doubt she could pick up what I can see."

"Fine."

John picked up the shoe and looked it over and shook his head.

"They're just a pair of shoes. Trainers. Um . . . They're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new, except the sole has been well worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. Er, very eighty's. Probably one of those retro designs."

"You're on sparkling form. What else?"

"They're quite big. A man's. But . . . there's a trace of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belong to a kid."

"Excellent. What else?"

"Er . . . that's it. How did I do?" John said, handing the shoe back.

"Well, John. Really well. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but you know. Etheldrea, catch."

Sherlock tossed her the shoe, and she dropped her book in surprise. She glared at him.

"I. Lost. My. Page."

"Tell me about the shoes."

She sighed and looked them over, "The owner loved them. They've been cleaned very well. He whitened them when they got discolored. Changed the laces three time-"

"Four."

"Four? Oh, right. I think there are traces of skin on them. He had eczema. The shoes are well worn more so on the inner side, he had weak arches. British made, but I don't know how old."

"Twenty years. They're not retro, they're original. Limited edition, two blue stripes, nineteen-eighty-nine."

"There's still mud on them. They look new." John said.

Etheldrea tossed the shoe back to Sherlock and he said, "Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?"

"Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So, what happened to him?"

"Something bad. He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't let them go unless he had to. So a child with big feet gets- Oh!"

"What?" John and Etheldrea asked.

"Carl Powers."

"Who?" John asked.

"Carl Powers, John. It's where I began. Come on, we're going back to Baker Street."

Sherlock stood, grabbed his coat and scarf, and walked out of the room with John and Etheldrea following behind him. When they got to the front doors, Etheldrea's phone went off.

**Can you come over? -Abby**

"Hey dad, will you need me for anything? Anything at all?"

"Not for a few hours."

"Ok, I'll see you later."

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Abigail's house." She said as she hailed her own taxi.

**I'm on my way. – EH**

**Good. We need to talk. – Abby**

**Talk? Why? – EH**

**Adam told me what happened at school.  
Is it true? – Abby**

**Yes. But it's only for five days.  
I'll be back next Wednesday. – EH**

**No, not the suspension. Is it true that  
it happened because I wasn't there?  
-Abby**


	3. The Great Game Part 3

Etheldrea knocked on the door to the Grey's house. A moment later, Adam Grey opened the door, his blond hair hidden by a dark hoodie. He glared at her with blue eyes, but stepped back and motioned up the stairs.

Up there and down the hall to the right was Abigail's bedroom. She sat on her bed, a stereo playing Elvis nearby, and in her hands a journal with the rock legend. Etheldrea knocked on the door and Abigail looked up. Her skin was paler than usual, even without the spray tan she usually wore. Her nose was bright red, and her cheeks were flushed.

She patted a spot on her bed, "Get in here."

Etheldrea sat down, "Alright, so, you wanted to talk."

Her voice, slightly stuffed, was concerned, "When Adam came home, I asked if he had seen you, and he told me 'Not since she got suspended'."

"Yes, I got into a fight."

"He told me that. He also told me that because I wasn't there, they've been nothing under awful."

"Well, they always are, it's nothing new."

"No, this is worse. They got physical this time. If I was there, it wouldn't have happened. I'm so sorry."

Etheldrea was confused, "Sorry? What did you do?"

"I wasn't there, I could have helped."

"What? You honestly believe it's your fault?"

"Well, yeah. A friend is always there for you, no matter what, and I wasn't there."

Etheldrea shook her head, "No, don't. Don't blame yourself. Don't do that. I repeat, _do not_. Bullies are bullies, and no one changes what they do."

"But they've left you alone since I came here."

"Well, no they haven't. There's still name calling, getting pushed around. Listen, it's not your fault, plain and simple."

Abigail crossed her arms and sniffled, "I still don't believe it. Nothing you can say will make me think any different."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, "Anyway, do you want to hear the case we're working on?"

"Is that even a real question? Of course!"

"Ok, so there was this supposed gas explosion in the flats across from us. As it turns out, there's a bomber out there, and he's playing some game with my dad."

"A game?"

"It's the only way I can describe it. Right now, there's a woman strapped to a bomb somewhere, and dad has to solve this case. I don't really know what else I can say about it as I don't anything about this case. All I do know is that it's how dad became a consulting detective."

"Doesn't sound like a very fun game."

"I find it quite fascinating. In the flat below us, the bomber left a pair of shoes. That led him to the realization about Carl powers, his first case."

Abigail shook her head and laughed, "Only you would find this cool."

"You don't?"

"Well, it's exciting, but also a bit terrifying. What's your dad doing now?"

"I'd think going to find out everything he can about Carl Powers, try and figure out how he died."

"Why aren't you helping him?"

"He said he doesn't need me right now, and besides, you wanted to talk."

"There's a woman strapped to a bomb, and I'm more important than her?" she asked in disbelief.

Etheldrea was confused again, "Uh, should you not be? I mean, she's really not important at all, she's just a hostage. There aren't any leads with her, but I can try and care more."

"No, I mean- well, it's like- oh my gosh, this is so confusing. Ok, ok, I can explain this. I think it's really nice that you care more about me than the woman."

"Oh. Well, you're my friend, right? I don't even know the woman."

"But she's in danger. Aren't you worried?"

Etheldrea shook her head, "You're just like John. Look, this is going to sound completely heartless, but when you work on a case, you can't let emotions get in the way. Caring about her isn't going to stop the bomb, nor is it going to find him, or increase productivity. My dad already works as hard as he can to solve cases, worrying about this woman won't help."

Abigail nodded, "I guess I can see your point. Well, has anything else happened? Is there anything, maybe, I could do?"

"No, absolutely not. This is dangerous, and you can make some enemies."

"Do you have enemies?"

"Not yet, but my dad does. I'm sorry, but I'm not bringing an innocent person into this."

"But I could research stuff, or stalk a person. I stalk celebrities all the time."

"Stalking celebrities is complete different from stalking a murderer or drug dealer, even I'm not allowed to so that."

Abigail pouted, "Please?"

"Nope."

"Pretty please? With sugar, caramel, chocolate, sprinkles, chopped nuts, and a cherry on top?"

"No, and gross. Who eats chopped nuts with anything?"

"I know right? I hate them, especially in brownies."

"Our landlady makes us brownies with a section for me that have no nuts. They are the best."

"Your landlady makes you brownies? Our last landlord barely even paid attention to what happened in the house. There was a hole in the wall near the backyard, and he always forgot to get someone to come fix it."

"That's awful. Once, we had a landlord that kicked us out after dad played the violin too much at night. It wasn't very disturbing, well, not to me anyway."

"Your dad plays the violin?"

"Yeah. Sometimes, I can't fall asleep without it."

"Does he write songs too?"

"Oh yes. Lots. He, well, I have a folder where they're all kept."

"If I was to come over some time, would he play? I'd love to hear it."

"I'm not sure. He plays when he feels like, or when he needs to simulate his brain."

"You know, I still want to meet your dad, like actually talk to him."

"Well, how about this. When your cold has passed, you can stay over for a night."

"That'd be awesome!"

"I should warn you, it might be a bit . . . hazardous."

"How?"

"My dad like's to experiment, a lot. And sometimes with body parts."

"Body parts? Gross! How does he get access to that?"

"A girl who works in the mortuary at St. Barts. She has a crush on him, and with the right wink or observation, we'll have enough body parts to build a person."

"Has he tried that?" Abigail asked, very seriously.

Etheldrea laughed, "Not to my knowledge. Maybe when he was in university. But, my dad's not Doctor Frankenstein."

Abigail laughed too, and then started to cough. It passed and Etheldrea stood up.

"I should go, you need rest."

"You don't have to. I'm fine."

"Statistically, you should get about eleven hours of sleep, and you've only had about eight."

"How- right. But honestly, I'm fine."

"Your eyes have been drooping over the past twenty minutes, you're blinking has been increasing also. You've been holding back yawns since I arrived. More sleep is in order."

Abigail grinned, "I don't think you're a doctor."

She grinned back, "Yes, but I know one, and he's an excellent marksmen. So if I was to bring him here, I wouldn't disobey his orders."

"I'll see you later. I want to know more about the case; I'll call you tomorrow."

Etheldrea nodded, wished her a fast recovery and left the building. She grabbed a cab and went to Baker Street. Inside, John paced around while Sherlock looked over several dozen pieces of paper. Etheldrea grabbed an article and read up on Carl powers. He was eleven when he died, and had drowned after having some kind of fit.

"You started with this? Jeez, my first case was nothing compared to this." She mumbled.

"That's because you had my help." Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the papers.

"Can I help?" John asked as he walked in, "There's only five hours left I want to help."

John's phoned beeped, and he informed them it was from Mycroft, "He's texting _me_ now."

"Must be a root canal." Sherlock muttered.

"Look, he did say national importance."

"How quaint."

"What is?"

"You are. Queen and country."

"You can't just ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man and woman onto it right now."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, "Of course you are."

She turned and walked to the stairs and up to John's room. She maneuvered around his closet and pulled out a nice suit, dress shirt and tie. She placed them on the bed, and went back down stairs, informed him, and walked back to her own room. From her closet, she took out a pair of black dress pants, and a royal purple blouse. After changing, she put on her black coat and scarf. John walked down a moment later and the pair left.

"You know where we're going?" he asked as they grabbed a cab.

"Of course. Mycroft's main office is his 'home away from home'. I've been there loads of times."

The cab drove and stopped in front of a white building. Etheldrea lead John inside and past a room where several men looked up at them consciously. She stopped in front of a wall, which John realized was actually a hidden door. From her pocket, she pulled out a rectangular card and held it up towards the corner of the door. A moment later it opened and they two walked into a hallway and to an office.

"That was something." John muttered.

Etheldrea shrugged, "Better than Mycroft being called for clearance. If I don't have the ID, he comes and glares at me like I've disrupted his sleep."

John took a seat in front of the desk in the room, and Etheldrea pulled up a chair next to him. They chatted amiably as they waited, and soon Mycroft walked in.

He asked, "John, Etheldrea, how nice. I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?"

John replied, "Um, I was wanting to- Your brother sent us to collect more facts about the stolen plans."

"Did he?"

"Yes. He's investigating now. He's, er, investigating away."

Etheldrea shook her head and put her head in her hands. John couldn't life for the life of him. Mycroft looked over at her and smiled knowingly. This would either go bad, or worse. Silently, she pleaded with him for help.

"Um, I just wondered what else you could tell me about the dead man."

Mycroft sighed, "Er, twenty-seven. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross MI-Six. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Program in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée ten thirty yesterday evening."

"He was found at Battersea, yes. So he got on the train?"

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card, but it hadn't been used."

"He must have bought a ticket."

"There was no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up with a bashed in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question- the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He's fine. It's going very well, he's, uh, he's completely focused on it."

Etheldrea stood up and smiled, "it's going great. We'll have an answer very soon. Come on john; let's go see to it that Sherlock gets the information."

John stood and started to follow her, but Mycroft called her back.

"Go on outside John, I'll just be a minute." She told him.

Mycroft waited until he was down the hall before he asked her any questions.

"Your father hasn't even thought about this case has he?"

"Not to my knowledge." She answered honestly, "We are dealing with something far more exciting at the moment."

"And what could that be?"

She feigned shock, "I'm surprised you don't know. The eyes and ears of the British government has no clue what his baby brother is working on? I shouldn't tell you, leave it as a surprise."

"Etheldrea . . ." he asked, annoyed.

She smiled, "Yep, official. I'm not telling you."

"Must you be as infuriating as your father?"

"Of course, it's a trait I inherited."

He shook his head and sighed, "Why did you two come here?"

"I think dad wants John and me to take on the case."

"Haven't you got into enough trouble already?"

She glared, "It wasn't my fault."

"I know it wasn't, but that doesn't stop you from have a suspension on your record."

She rolled her eyes, "Like it matters. Are we done here?"

"Yes. Have a good night my dear."

"You too Uncle Mycroft."

She left the room and met John at the doors. He hailed a cab, and the two rode back to Baker Street. Inside, Sherlock had moved on from reading to examining the skin samples in his microscope. Mrs. Hudson bustled around clearing the table.

Etheldrea took a seat at the table and absently flipped through a few articles. Without a slight push from Sherlock, she had no idea what to do. He hadn't given her any task since the case began, and she was getting bored.

"Poison." Sherlock mumbled.

"What are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock slammed his hands on the table, and she shrieked and ran out of the room. Etheldrea glared at him and made a note to go check on her later.

"Clostridium botulinum. It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" he told them.

John was confused, but Etheldrea understood.

"Carl Powers!" Sherlock said.

"Are you saying he was murdered?" John asked.

Sherlock stood and walked over to the end of the table where he had strung up the shoes in pieces. Etheldrea stood and walked next to him, already piecing together the plot.

"Remember the shoelaces. The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

As he talked, Sherlock typed the solution into his blog, "It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it. There's still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go."

"So, how do we let the bomber know?" John asked.

"Get his attention, stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years."

"Yes. Meaning-"

"He's our bomber."

The pink phone rang, and Sherlock answered. The crying woman answered of course.

"_Well done, you. Come and get me."_

"Where are? Tell us where you are."

* * *

The next morning, Etheldrea woke up just as Sherlock and John were leaving.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?" she asked, grabbing her father's hand before he could walk out.

"Scotland Yard." Sherlock said.

"And you weren't going to wake me?"

"No, I wasn't."

She was getting angry, "Why not? I want to help."

"Because you're not needed for this."

John watched the two of them as if expecting a catfight to break out at any moment. Etheldrea pulled Sherlock back down the hall towards her room and whispered.

"Why can't I help? You usually like when I help, even if it's just standing there. Yesterday, I hardly helped at all. All I did was mutter off a bunch of facts you already knew."

"I'm letting you get too far involved in this case1"

"Why not!?"

"Because his focus is on _me_, and it's going to stay that way."

Then he turned and beckoned for John to follow. With a sorry look at her, John followed and the pair left. Etheldrea huffed and turned back to her room. She changed into some jeans and gray shirt, and then went to the living room. She sat down in the black chair and flipped on the TV. A rerun of Connie Prince's show was on and she settle back.

Just as she got into it, the doorbell rang and she glared towards the door. Reluctantly, she stood up and walked downstairs. She opened the door and looked to see who was there, but instead of a person, there was a cardboard box with her name in black marker.

She glanced around for anyone suspicious, but whoever left it was gone by now. She bent down and looked it over, gingerly lifting it above the ground. It was extremely light, as though there wasn't anything in it. She peeled off the tape and the top opened, reviling a small yellowish card and a photograph.

She picked up the box by the edges, now that there was no danger, and went back upstairs. She put the box on the table and lifted the card also by the edge.

_Everything you know is a lie._

She frowned and set it down. Next she took out the photograph and studied it. It was similar to a stalker's photo. Poor quality, black and white, and of a person walking with their head turned towards the side. They obviously didn't know they were the star of picture.

It was a woman, fair skin and light haired. Two front section of her hair were clipped back, but that didn't stop the sun from shining in her face which she blocked with her hand. She was dressed in a black suit, and seemed highly important. There was nothing around her to give location.

Etheldrea put the paper and photo back in the box, and then grabbed her coat and scarf. She took a cab to St. Bart's and immediately headed for the lab. Molly sat in there, prepping some of the equipment.

She smiled nervously, "Etheldrea, hi. I didn't know you guys would be here so soon."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your dad texted, he said he was coming here in a while and to prep the lab."

"Actually, I'm here on my own business."

"Oh. Well then, do you need me to do anything?"

"I was hoping to use the fuming box."

"Uh, sure."

Molly walked out of the room with Etheldrea following her to the lab next door. The fuming box was in one corner of the room, and Molly unlocked it. Carefully, Etheldrea placed the box, card and the photograph in the glass box. From a cabinet, she pulled out a red liquid and case of superglue.

"You know what you're doing?" Molly asked.

"Of course. Could you do me a favor, and not let dad know I'm here? I mean, if he asks, it's ok, but if he doesn't well- I'd rather he not know about this just yet."

"Sure."

"Thank you Molly."

Molly left, and Etheldrea focused on the task at hand. In a small dish, she poured the liquid and then set it inside the glass box. She grabbed a disposable mask for protection. Then added the superglue and locked the door. She pressed a button, and slowly the box filled with gas. As she waited, she grabbed a roll of tape.

A few minutes later, she deemed the process done, and cleared the box of the gas. Then she pulled out the card, photo and box and searched for any prints. The superglue formula she had used should have caused any marks to show up white, but there wasn't any. Not even on the box.

She sighed, and then threw away the box. She placed the card and photo in her jacket pocket. There was nothing left and no leads for her to follow. She walked towards the doors, checking out the window to see if her dad or John were outside, and opened them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a piece of paper flutter to the floor. She picked it up and turned it over.

_All good things come in threes, and you've only had two. Have patience. ~xx JM_


	4. The Great Game Part 4

_Sherlock sat next to Etheldrea on the sofa with a piece of paper that was written up like a contract in his hands. The two of them took turns reading off the main bullet points._

"_I have the right to exclude you from certain cases." Sherlock said._

"_Agreed. However, the rules are subject to change." Etheldrea replied._

"_Agreed. Before that happens, we need to sit down and talk about it."_

"_Three days to finalize everything."_

"_Agreed. Now, sign the bottom."_

_She signed, and so did he. Then Sherlock folded it, put it in an envelope, and stuck it on the fridge._

"_There, now it's official." Etheldrea said, "We are a team."_

_Sherlock smiled, "We are a team."_

* * *

Etheldrea was on the sofa, trying to read a book, but her mind was in other places. _All good things come in threes, and you've only had two._ The note bothered her. A card and a photograph of some woman were all she had to go one. No prints, no DNA, nothing she could use to figure out who sent it to her, and may be threatening her.

Sherlock and John had been gone for over three hours, and she had managed to avoid them while she was at Bart's. They were dealing with the bomber case, and her dad was trying to keep her as far away from it as possible. In the meantime, she had her own mystery to solve. Waiting was an absolute torture, but it was all she could do now.

"Ethel dear," Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked in, "There's been a slight problem downstairs."

"What's wrong Mrs. Hudson?" she asked, standing up.

"See, I was trying out a brand new dessert recipe, and I don't quite understand the instructions. Would you be willing to come help me figure it out?"

Etheldrea smiled and nodded eagerly. The old woman smiled back and they headed downstairs. In the past, this happened anytime Sherlock was away on a case and couldn't take Etheldrea along. Mrs. Hudson would search for a special treat to make. Often she'd pretend she didn't know what to do in order for Etheldrea to help.

Down in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, Etheldrea looked over the recipe for chocolate lasagna. From the cupboards, she pulled out a glass dish, mixing bowl, rolling pin, and a plastic baggy. Mrs. Hudson grabbed the Oreo cookies and butter. They set to work, chatting happily.

As Etheldrea squashed the now fine cookie crumbs into the dish, Mrs. Hudson laughed, "It looks like your hands are covered in dirt."

"At least I'm not treasure hunting treasure this time."

"Oh, I remember watching you and your father run around the garden at times. Both of you pretending to be pirates, and then walk back to the house covered up to your elbows in dirt and grass. You had the biggest smile on your face, and it dropped the moment your father mentioned bath time."

Etheldrea laughed, "Yeah, I always hated that."

"Do you remember when I hid the little basket in the yard, and looking for it, you climbed that tree and fell into the mud? You were covered from head to toe, and your father held you as far away as possible."

"And then I squirmed out of his hands and ran around the house. I think that rug upstairs still has a few flecks of mud on it."

"Those were the days. Now you're always running about with your father and John."

"Except for now." Etheldrea mumbled with a bit of disdain.

She placed the glass pan in the fridge as Mrs. Hudson began the second layer.

"Ethel, you know why." Mrs. Hudson said, mixing cream cheese and cool whip together.

"I know, and I understand, but I think it goes against our pact."

"Is the pact really more important than making sure your safe?"

"Dad's not safe, and maybe I can help. If he would give me a chance, and something to do. So far, he's kept John and me in the dark on what's happening. He's having us instead solve Uncle Mycroft's problems. I just, I just want to help."

Etheldrea grabbed the glass pan form the fridge so they could pour the cream cheese and cool whip mix. Then she started making the third layer, chocolate pudding.

"Maybe you're helping him by helping you uncle."

"I don't want to help Uncle Mycroft though. If he stopped eating for one moment to actual get up and move, he'd have had it done by now, I'm sure."

"Maybe your grandmother can nag him." Mrs. Hudson teased.

Etheldrea laughed, "I'm_ so_ sure he'd listen to her. Grandma just loves him too much to nag."

"Then I suppose we'll have to. We can start by making sure he doesn't get any of this treat."

Etheldrea glanced up from pouring pudding on the dessert as her phone rang. After setting it down, and letting Mrs. Hudson put the final layer of cool whip and chocolate chips on top, she washed her hands. Then she checked her phone.

_She wouldn't dare. – MH_

Etheldrea laughed again, "It's Uncle Mycroft. He doesn't believe you."

"Tell him to stop sending you and your father into danger, and I'll consider it."

_Done. – MH_

Etheldrea shook her head and texted her dad, _Uncle Mycroft's gone and bugged Mrs. H's flat again. Possibly ours too. - EH_

_Your dad says he'll deal with it later. John _

"Come on, let's go watch some telly" Mrs. Hudson beckoned, "We have to wait a while for the chocolate to cool."

Another hour later, Etheldrea finished a rant on how it was impossible for the drug dealer to have willingly sold to a child because of the bruise cover by his jacket. Mrs. Hudson shook her head in mild amusement and said she was just like her father.

It was then that said father and his companion burst into Baker Street and hurried upstairs. Etheldrea said she'd be back in a bit and dashed after them. Sherlock was just typing his solution into his website, and then the pink mobile rang.

"_He says you can come and fetch me now. . . Help! Help me please!"_

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked.

"_Pi-Piccadilly circus."_

"Ok, we're going to call the police. You're going to be fine." John said.

John did just that, and a while later Greg called to tell them everything was alright. John had let out a sigh of relief while Sherlock and Etheldrea were simply indifferent to the news. While they had waited, Mrs. Hudson had come up with slices of Chocolate Lasagna for everyone, although Sherlock didn't eat his. While they ate, John recounted how the past few hours had been and what had happened.

A second message had shown a sports car, stained with blood. When they had found and looked inside the car, a card of a rental agency was in the glove box. The agency owner had a distinct suntan and was recently in Colombia, and the blood in the car had been previously frozen, so they concluded that the lost man, Ian Monkford, paid the agency owner to help him disappear.

Etheldrea had crossed her arms and pouted, "You two get to have all the fun."

* * *

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked John.

The three sat in a small café down the street, calmly awaiting the next pip. John was eating breakfast while Etheldrea read.

"To be honest, we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started. Has it occurred to you-?"

"Probably."

"No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes- it's all meant for you."

"Yes, I know."

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps."

Next to her, the pink phone beeped. Sherlock opened the message and showed them a picture of Connie Prince.

"That could be anybody!"

"Well, it could be, yeah."

Etheldrea smirked, "thank god we live with Mrs. Hudson."

John sighed, "Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."

"How'd you mean?" Sherlock asked them.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Etheldrea and I watch far too much telly."

John stood and walked over to the counter where a TV remote was. Etheldrea and Sherlock turned towards the TV and watched as the Connie Prince show came on. Then, the mobile rang and Sherlock picked it up.

"Hello?"

Etheldrea watched him carefully as John came and sat back down.

"Why are you doing this?"

A moment later, Sherlock hung up and shook his head once. He glanced back to the TV to watch the report. Then he stood and walked out of the café with John and Etheldrea sprinting after.

"Let me guess," Etheldrea muttered, "You want me to go back to Baker Street while you and John go on your adventure."

"Not quite. Go and start organizing everything we've collected so far. Tape it up behind the sofa on surrounding that map we have in one of the drawer's. In a while, I'll send you some photos to add to the wall. You know where the string and tacks are; find every connect you can."

Etheldrea nodded and walked back to Baker Street. In the kitchen, she pulled out the tacks and map. Off the table, she grabbed everything related to the first two cases and started work. Half an hour later, everything was set up, and another hour later, Etheldrea had the Connie Prince evidence, and everything was connected. There wasn't a whole lot, only a few things seemed linked by location, but that could have been coincidence.

Another hour later, the flat was filled with Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. John had gone to visit Connie's brother. Sherlock was pacing in front of the wall, his hands in a prayer fashion.

"Connection, connection, connection." He muttered as he found none, "There must be a connection."

He stopped and started from the beginning, "Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in the stationary from the Czech Republic. The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing? Working his way round the world, showing off?"

The mobile rang and he put it on speaker, _"You're enjoying this aren't you? Joining the . . . dots. Three hours. Boom . . . boom."_

The phone hung up and Sherlock walked away to call someone else. Mrs. Hudson looked on sadly at the wall.

"It's a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours."

"Colours?" Lestrade asked, giving her his full attention.

"You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise apparently. Drains me. Etheldrea should never wear all black; it'd turn her into a ghost."

"That's why I have the scarf, purple adds a bit of colour."

Sherlock ended his call and came to stand by the group.

"Who's that?" Lestrade asked him.

"Home Office."

"Home Office?"

"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour."

"Since when?" Etheldrea asked.

"Since December."

Mrs. Hudson ignored them all and continued her mourning, "She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces. It's silly, isn't it? Did you ever see her show?"

"Not until now." Sherlock muttered, grabbing his laptop.

He opened it to an old episode of the show where Connie was beating her brother's back with the audience chanting in the background.

"That's her brother. No love loss there." Mrs. Hudson informed them.

"So I gather. I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who love this show. The fan site's indispensable for gossip."

A moment later, Mrs. Hudson went back downstairs and then Sherlock's phone rang. It was a call from John. They finished their conversation and Sherlock motioned for Etheldrea to grab her coat.

"Where are we going? And why do you need that old camera?" she asked as he pulled out a large bag from the closet.

"To get John and then to Scotland Yard. Cover for John."

As they rode in the cab, Sherlock looked her over. Arms and legs crossed, body angled slightly away from him, jaw set firm, eyes trying to find something outside to distract her.

"Which reason?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're mad at me for two, possibly three reasons. Which one is it?"

"Wrong. I'm mad at you for four reasons. One, the whole Mycroft situation. I'm not his helper monkey, and neither is John. Two, I'm not exactly mad, more irritated, that you haven't told John you already figured it out. Three, I'm mad that you're not letting me help. Four, I think you've broken our pact, and for that, I'm furious."

"The Pact doesn't apply in this situation."

"_I _think it does."

"As your father,_ I_ make the final call on when it applies."

"As you're now sixteen year-old daughter, not nine-year old daughter, _I _think the rules need an upgrade."

"_I_ think they're fine that way they are."

"_I_ don't."

"Can we deal with it after the case?"

"Fine. Just remember, any and all disagreements have to be settled with in three days."

The cab ride was silent the rest of the way as was the walk to the Prince's house. Sherlock had her wait outside as it would be suspicious for a sixteen year old to follow them around. She could have been an unpaid intern, but it would have required too much effort. Now Sherlock just wanted to get in and get out.

A few moments later, John walked out laughing, with Sherlock behind him.

"Yes!" he cried, "Ooh, yes!"

"You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat." Sherlock said as they walked to the main road.

"What? Yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how he got the tetanus into her system. It's paws stink of disinfectant."

"Lovely idea."

"No, he coated it onto the claws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't-"

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother."

"He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?"

"Didn't he?"

"Nope. It was revenge."

"Who wanted revenge?"

"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes week in and week out. Virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough, fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threanted to disinherit Kenny, Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle-"

""Wait. Wait! What about the disinfectant on the cat's claws?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came though the kitchen door saw the state of that floor- scrubbed within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant. I know the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's internet records do, though. I hope we can get a cab from here."

John stopped for a moment and looked at Etheldrea, "Did you know this?"

"When I saw the evidence, it became utterly transparent."

"Does Sherlock know?"

"I'd think so. Come on, we have little over and hour."

* * *

Sherlock burst into Scotland Yard, walking straight to Lestrade.

"Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin. We've been here before. Carl powers. Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."

"So how'd he do it?" Lestrade asked.

"Botox injection."

"Botox?"

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright, my office."

Etheldrea followed him while John stopped Sherlock for a moment. Lestrade made a call and a few moments later, Sherlock entered with a mad looking John behind him. Sherlock set up his laptop and entered the solution. John and Lestrade stood next to him while Etheldrea sat across.

The phone rang.

"Hello? . . . Tell us where you are, address. . . No! No, no, no! Tell me nothing about him, nothing! . . . Hello?"

"What's happened?" John asked.

Etheldrea watched her father as he slowly put the phone down. His face was blank, unreadable. She sat back in her seat feeling sick, and like she was going to cry, but she didn't. The logical side of her knew it was pointless. She didn't know the caller, didn't know anyone connected to them; she had no connection to them at all.

But why did she feel so guilty?


	5. The Great Game Part 5

Etheldrea sat on the sofa, absently playing with her hair, flicking it off her shoulders now and then, and trying not to watch the television. She figured she'd need a haircut soon; her tips were just touching her shoulders and she hated long hair. Her phone beeped and she started conversing with Abigail.

**Did you hear about that gas explosion? – Abby**

**Yes I did. –EH**

**Was it connected? – Abby**

**[Delayed response] Yes. – EH**

**I'm sorry. - Abby**

**Don't be. Technically, my dad solved the case. – EH**

**But there was still a casualty. - Abby**

**You win some, you lose some. – EH**

**Drea, it's alright to treat everything normally. – Abby**

**I don't do normal, never have never will. /Don't you have school or something? / – EH**

**I have class right now, teacher's not even paying attention. Hey, I'm sorry; I don't mean normal as an insult. – Abby**

**I know what you mean. I'm sorry. It's been a bit stressful the past couple days. – EH**

**This weekend, we should hangout. We could catch a movie, go to the arcade, shopping? – Abby**

**Sure, why not? But a movie? Shopping? That's so . . . –EH**

**Let me guess, boring? I'll try to find something that tops the Chinese Circus. XD – Abby**

**I laughed rather loud. Dad and John just turned to stare at me. Also, was does xd stand for? –EH**

**That would be called laughing out loud, lol. Also, XD is a smiley face. – Abby**

**I don't get it. – EH**

**Ok, weekend plans. We're going to just hangout and I'm going to teach you text talk. – Abby**

**Sure. – EH**

**How about we meet at Hyde Park Sunday afternoon? How does 1 sound? - Abby**

**That's great. Where should I meet you? –EH**

**The playground by the ship. G2g, teacher saw me- Abby**

**G2g?- EH**

Etheldrea looked up as she heard the beginning of a row. John had stood up and stood behind his chair.

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very."

"What if it was Etheldrea strapped to a bomb. What if she was the one reciting everything, giving clues, counting down? Would you still not care?"

Only Etheldrea saw him hesitate for just a second, "Just because she's my daughter- doesn't mean anything. Is that news to you?"

His answer was firm, and Etheldrea was unaffected. Their relationship was strange; she knew exactly what he meant when he didn't say anything.

Although in slight disbelieve, John said, "No, not really."

"I've disappointed you."

"That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah."

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

Before John could say anything else, the pink phone beeped. Sherlock pulled up the message.

"It's a view of the Thames. South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You two check the papers, I'll look online."

Etheldrea grabbed the paper and flipped through it while John stood his ground.

"Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help. Not much cop, this caring lark."

John sighed and sat down next to Etheldrea, looking over a different section.

"Archway suicide." John said.

"Ten-a-penny." Sherlock muttered.

Etheldrea spotted, "Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington. No, not right."

"Ah, man found on the train line, Andrew West." John muttered, trying to get Sherlock's attention.

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and continued looking. Sherlock ignored John and was calling Lestrade.

"It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge? . . . Meet you there."

* * *

As they walked towards the scene, Lestrade called to them, "Do you reckon this is connected, then, the bomber?"

"Must be." Sherlock answered, "Odd, though, he hasn't been in touch."

"Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Any ideas?"

"Seven so far. Etheldrea?"

"I've got six."

Sherlock stooped down and examined the body, pulling out his magnifying glass to zone in on the details. Etheldrea examined him also, taking note of everything she could see.

"He's been dead about twenty four hours. Maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?" John asked as he looked at the body himself.

"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs, asphyxiated."

"Yes, I'd agree. Ah, there's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here."

Sherlock said "He's been in the water a long while, the river's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing. That lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?"

"We need to identify the corpse, find out about his friends and-"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?"

"It's all over the place, haven't you seen the posters?"

Etheldrea nodded, "Yesterday, I couldn't walk a block without hearing about it when I was on my way to Bart's."

Both Sherlock and John looked at her for a moment, and John watched her face as she realized her blunder.

She continued, "It's a Dutch old master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago. Now it's turned up, worth thirty million pounds."

"Ok, what has that got to do with a stiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Everything." Sherlock answered, "Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

"Golem?"

"It's a horror story, isn't?" John asked.

Etheldrea said, "Uncle Mycroft told me a version of that story when I was young to try and scare me into behaving. It didn't work, but he tried."

Sherlock told them, "It's a Jewish folk story, a gigantic man made of clay, it's also the name of an assassin. Real name, Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style."

"So this is a hit?" Lestrade asked.

"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victim's with his bare hands."

"But has this got to do with that painting? I don't see-"

"You do see, you just don't observe!"

John broke the argument, "Yes, all right, all right, girls! Calm down. Etheldrea, you've hardly said a word. Why don't you take us through it?"

She smiled and nodded, "The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and trousers. They're formal, he might have been out for the night, but the trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. Both are too big for him, so it's a standard-issue uniform. Work clothes. There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie, I'd guess tube driver, but a security guard is more likely. You can tell that by his backside, it's flabby, but the soles of her feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. A lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. On his shirt, there's the marking of a badge being ripped off, some insignia. That suggests the dead man works somewhere recognisable."

"I found this in his pockets." Sherlock said, producing a ball of paper.

"Tickets?" John asked.

"Ticket stubs. I checked and the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing, Alex Woodbridge."

Etheldrea nodded, "And tonight they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece."

"Now the question is why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner from getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."

"Fantastic." John uttered.

"Meretricious."

"And a Happy New Year. I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character."

"Pointless, but I know a man who can."

"Who?"

"Me."

As usual, Sherlock turned and walked away. Back on the main road, they grabbed a cab. There was a moment of silence before John asked Etheldrea a question.

"Why were you at Bart's?"

She shrugged, "I needed a closer inspection of a package I received."

He nodded, "Ah. Why?"

"She didn't know who it was from." Sherlock answered.

"Right. I was using the fume box."

"What was inside?" John asked, "Inside the box?"

"A couple pieces of paper."

"Why hasn't he phoned?" Sherlock muttered, "He's broken his pattern. Why?"

"You're daughter's received a package from a stranger, that doesn't faze you at all?"

John saw her smirk as Sherlock ignored them and told the driver a new destination. She told John they'd discuss it later and they should focus on the case at hand.

"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have they got hold of an old master's?" John asked.

"Don't know. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. We need data. Etheldrea, I need your notebook."

She pulled it out form her inside coat pocket and handed it to him. He flipped past her notes from the past few cases and scribbled something on a new sheet before tearing it out. He handed the book back, and folded the paper along with a fifty pound note.

Sherlock stopped the cab for a moment and they all climbed out. They hopped the fence in front of them, John having more trouble than the Holmes, and walked up the stairs to a rest area under a bridge. A homeless woman sat there and asked them for some spare change.

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

"Cup of tea, of course."

"Here you go a fifty."

"Thanks."

Sherlock and Etheldrea walked away leaving John confused.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Investing."

Back down in the cab, Sherlock told the driver to stop off at the gallery. Once there, he then told John and Etheldrea to go talk to the dead man's roommate. A few minutes later, they arrived at the flat and were greeted at the door by a sad looking woman. Without hesitation, she led them inside and showed them the man's room.

"We'd been sharing about a year." She said.

The pair looked around the small room that was much cluttered. Clothes hung everywhere, the bed was unmade and most of the room was taken up by something covered by a sheet.

"May I?" John asked, pointing to it.

"Yeah."

The sheet fell off easily and revealed a telescope.

"Stargazer, was he?"

"God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time. He was a nice guy Alex. I liked him. He was never much one for hovering."

"What about art?" Etheldrea asked, "Did he know anything about that?"

"It was just a job."

"I see. Has anyone been around, asking about Alex?"

"No. We had a break-in, though. Last night. Nothing was taken. Oh! There was a message left on the land line for Alex."

"Who was it from?" John asked.

"I can play it for you, if you like."

The woman turned, left, and returned in a moment and held a phone in her right hand. She clicked a button, and a woman started speaking.

"_Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right. Give us a call when-"_

"Professor Cairns?"

"No idea, sorry."

"Can I try and ring back?"

"No good. I've had other calls since. Sympathy ones, you know."

As she turned and went to put the phone back, John's phone rang.

**RE: BRUCE – PARTINGTON PLANS**

**Have you spoken to West's fiancé yet? – MH**

His lips formed a tight line and he sighed.

"We need to go to Andrew West's fiancé."

Etheldrea nodded, "Alright, let's go."

She left the room, thanked the woman, and when John left the house, found she had grabbed a cab. The ride was longer than from the gallery to the dead man's' place, and so John tried to talk with Etheldrea. He asked about the package, and she bluntly ignored him. She didn't say another word until the cab drove away.

"It'd my business John, and I'd appreciate if you let me handle it myself."

"I'm sorry, I just worry about you."

Etheldrea looked at him confused, "Worry? Why would you worry about me?"

"Well, I just- that is, you are- uh. I worry because that's what friends do. They worry about each other when they might be in danger."

She shook her head, "But I'm not in danger."

Etheldrea walked up to the door, leaving John shaking his head as he followed. A moment later, a young woman with bloodshot eyes peeked out and asked them who they were.

"We're with the police, in a way." John said, "We wanted to ask you some questions about . . . the night."

She nodded sadly, "Alright. Come in."

The pair followed her upstairs and into a living room. John and Etheldrea sat down with Mr. West's fiancé across form them.

"We have reason to believe that Andrew might have given away some secret plans to the wrong people." John said.

"He wouldn't. He just wouldn't."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say."

John nodded, "I'm sorry. But you must understand-"

"That's what they think isn't it, his bosses?"

"He was a young man, about to get married, he had debts."

"Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country!"

Etheldrea leaned forward, "Miss Harrison, it's alright. I personally don't believe that's what happened. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?"

She sighed, "We were having a night in. Just watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue he said he just had to go and see someone."

"Do you know who?"

Miss Harrison sobbed as she shook her head. John decided there was nothing left to ask and he stood. The three walked to the door and just as they were leaving, a man with a bike walked up.

"Hi, Liz. You ok, love?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Who's this?"

"John Watson and Etheldrea Holmes. Hi." John said.

"This is my brother, Joe. John and Etheldrea are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."

"You with the police?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"Tell them to get off their asses, will you. It's bloody ridiculous."

Joe went inside, and Etheldrea went to get a cab for them. John said his goodbyes to Miss Harrison and thanked her for her help. John walked down the street after Etheldrea and the two finally made it back to Baker Street. Sherlock was waiting outside the door as the two left the cab.

"Alex Wood bridge didn't know anything special about art." John told Sherlock.

"And?"

"And?"

"Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?"

"Give us a chance. He was an amateur astronomer."

John watched as Sherlock walked over to a woman who looked very much like the homeless woman he had seen earlier. Sherlock pointed ot the idle waiting taxi.

"Hold that cab."

John turned around and grabbed it before it went off, "Can you wait here?"

He turned back and saw Sherlock talking with the woman. In a moment, he walked over.

"Fortunately, I haven't been idle. Etheldrea, you're done here. Get inside, eat something. John, come on."

John watched as Etheldrea prepared to protest, but was distracted by her phone. She looked at the message and then back to them.

"Fine. It doesn't matter. I'm going to Abigail's."

"Etheldrea, go inside." Sherlock ordered sternly.

She looked surprised, but turned and walked into the flat.

"How do you know she won't just leave when we do?"

"Not once in her life has she disobeyed me. I hardly ask anything of her, and when I do, she knows it's important."

The men got into the cab. The ride was silent, and a while later, they came to a stop outside and alleyway. The detective and his blogger walked down the way as Sherlock looked up at the night sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I thought you didn't care about-"

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."

John sighed, "Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns."

"This way."

They walked under the arches and John looked around. Brick structures, worn signs, and large puddles covered the area.

"Nice. Nice part of town." He remarked, "Anytime you want to explain?"

"Homeless network. Really is indispensable."

"Homeless network?"

"My eyes and ears all over the city."

"That's clever. So you scratch their backs and-"

"Yes, then I disinfect myself."

The pair searched the area, finding nothing but the occasion sleeping person. As they walked towards a lot area, they stopped when they saw a very tall shadow. Sherlock and John stood against a wall.

"What's he doing sleeping rough?" John asked.

"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag . . . much."

John sighed, "I wish I-"

Sherlock passed John his gun, "Don't mention it."

He took off and John followed, chasing after the escaping criminal. They were too late though, as the Golem had a car ready.

"It'll take us weeks to find him again!" Sherlock yelled.

"Or not. I have an idea where he might be going."

"What?"

"I told you, someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on."

* * *

Not even twenty minutes later, they were running into the auditorium of a building. Up on the platform, John could only watch as the Golem snapped the neck of Professor Cairns. The Golem bent down and disappeared. The projector made everything hard to see, flashing lights and flares.

"I'll go round." John said.

"Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?" Sherlock yelled.

John walked down the stage and looked around, seeing the Golem approach from behind Sherlock. He hurried back on the stage and drew his gun.

"Let him go, or I _will_ kill you."

The Golem let go of his choke hold on Sherlock and lunged for John, knocking the gun from his hands and shoving him to the ground. After a moment of daze, he stood and jumped on the criminal's back. He held on for dear life and the Golem tried to spin him off. John dropped to the ground and felt his jacket being grabbed. With a large shove, he was thrown and slid to the end and off the stage.

The Golem took off after that, and was able to avoid the bullets shot by Sherlock. John heard Sherlock slam his fist on the floor, and then the doors close. Slowly he stood up, trying to collect himself.

"Come one, let's go." Sherlock called.

"Where?"

"The gallery."

Sherlock was already calling Lestrade, telling him to send some officers here, and the two meet them at the gallery. Quickly, Professor Cairn's body was sorted out, and Sherlock and John were meeting Lestrade and the gallery curator at the doors.

The four walked up to the room containing the supposedly Lost Vermeer began searching through his phone.

"It's a fake. It has to be."

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." The curator defended.

"It's a very good fake, then. You know about the, don't you. This you, isn't it?"

"Inspector my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?"

The pink phone rang and Sherlock took a double take at the number.

"Etheldrea? Why did you call this number?"

He waited for an answer, but all he heard was quiet breathing.

"Ethel . . .?"

It was then, he realized.


	6. The Great Game Part 6

**I need your help now some guys at my house hes got a gun hes looking for you – Abby**

**[Ten Minute Delay] Call the police, I'm on my way. - EH**

Etheldrea sat calmly, slowly breathing in and out. In her head she replayed the last hour and how it could have gone better. She should have listened to her father. It wasn't the first time she'd disobeyed him, but it was one of the first times she had completely disregarded an order. After ten minutes beside the front door, she left the house and walked down the street. Once she was away from the more popular roads, she ran until the Grey's apartment was in site.

To her surprise, the lights were on, and it looked like everything was fine. She even saw Abigail dancing past her window. She was confused, and looked at the message again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black car pull up. She rolled her eyes and started to walk towards the Grey's, only to be harshly pulled back and forced into the car. It was definitely not uncle Mycroft.

She struggled at first, but stopped to start calculating plan. There were two men in the car, three including the driver. One man kept his hands over her eyes as the other sounded like he was fumbling with something. Then, the hands were gone and replaced with a blindfold. When the car stopped, she heard doors open and was dragged out. It was a beach like area they were at. There was sand and gravel, and she could hear water swaying onto the sure. They forced her to walk, each holding her arms.

She dug her heels into the ground, and then dug the heel of her boots into their feet. They yelled and let her go, and then she turned and ran. She struggled with the blind fold for a moment, and just as it came off, she ran into a wall. Her captors laughed as they caught up and grabbed her. This time, they didn't hesitate to grab her legs, and they carried her off under a dock. There, they strapped a semtex bomb on her, threw a pager and her phone on her lap, and ran as fast as they could out of there.

It was pitch black out, and she was completely and utterly alone. So, she sat, calmly waiting for something to happen. The pager flashes, a backlight showing her a message.

**Good evening Miss Holmes. Didn't I tell you all good things come in threes?**

"So, you're the one who sent the package. What is it then? The third thing?"

**Patience. We have to play with your father first. Pick up your phone and call Sherlock #2. When he answers, you are not to say a word until I say so.**

She picked up the phone and browsed through until she found it. She hit the call button, and waited.

"_Etheldrea? Why did you call this number?"_

She didn't say a word.

"_Ethel . . .?"_

There was a slight pause as the puzzle clicked.

"_The painting is a fake. It's a fake that's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed. . . . Oh, come on, proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake, I've solved it, I've figured it out! It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed. . . . Ok, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"_

**Count down from 10; don't make it slower than a second.**

"Ten."

"_What did she say?" John asked._

"Nine."

"_Ten, it's a countdown, he's given me time. It's a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?!"_

"Eight."

"_My daughter will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!"_

"Seven."

"_No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if _I_ figure it out."_

**Faster.**

"Six. . . Five."

"_Woodbridge knew, but how?"_

"_She's speeding up!"_

"Four."

"_OH! In the Planetarium, you heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant, that is gorgeous!"_

"Three."

"_What's brilliant? What is?" Lestrade asked._

"_Love this!"_

"Two."

"_SHERLOCK!"_

"_The Van Buren Supernova!"_

**He wins.**

She breathed a sigh of relief, "You did it dad."

"_Are you at Baker Street?" Sherlock asked, sounding breathless himself._

** Your third clue: A.S**

_A.S? _"No, I'm by Wandsworth Park, I think. Doesn't matter, helps already on its way."

In the distance, she could already see men in uniforms coming towards her.

"_Go back to Baker Street, John and I will be there soon."_

She hung up, and waited as the men got to work. A few minutes later, the bomb was off, her report was put in, and she was being escorted to a sleek black car. Anthea, as she had just stuck to calling her, was standing outside the open door. Etheldrea climbed in and then they were on their way.

"Miss Holmes, your Uncle would like to know how you are."

"I'm fine."

"Your hands are shaking."

Etheldrea looked down and to her surprise, found her hands really were shaking, badly. She clasped them together, and then looked out the window to watch London pass by.

"I'm perfectly fine."

Anthea let it drop, and the rest of the ride was silent. Inside Baker Street, Etheldrea changed into her pj's, grabbed a book, and sat on the sofa. Mrs. Hudson popped in once to check on her and a while later, Sherlock and John came home.

John was running up the stairs, taking two at a time, while Sherlock walked up, taking his time. When he saw her, John went right over and wrapped Etheldrea in a hug.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I've been through worse."

Sherlock walked in, looked the room over and then narrowed his eyes, "There's no sign of a break in. You left the flat."

Her cheeks felt hot, and she looked down, "I did."

"After I told you not to."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I got a text that I thought was from Abigail. It said there was a guy with a gun in her house. I waited until you guys were gone, and I left. When I got there, a black car pulled up and took me."

"Etheldrea Wisteria Holmes, I gave you an order that I expected you to follow."

"And I disobeyed it to help my friend."

"You should have called the police."

"It said she needed me. Besides, it was a setup."

"Of course it was."

Etheldrea could see underlying frustration as he pinched the bridge of her nose. He sighed and walked over to her, kneeling down to look her in the eyes.

"You are never to do anything like this again. Not unless you have someone with you. Even call your Uncle if you have to. Understood?"

She gave a curt nod, "Understood."

* * *

Etheldrea trudged along the path behind John and the rail's worker. She and John were left alone to investigate the government case. She hadn't wanted to, but Sherlock was still vexed with her, and she didn't care to be near him at the moment. She'd give him time to cool off and then everything would be fine.

"So this is where West was found?"

"Yeah. Are you going to be long?"

"We might be."

"Are you the police then?"

"Sort of."

"I hate em'."

"Police?"

"No, jumpers. People who chuck 'emsleves in front of trains. Selfish bastards."

"Well, that's one way of looking at it."

"I mean it. It's alright for them. It's over in a split second, strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers? They've got to live with it, haven't they?"

John had bent down and looked over the rails. It was dry, and very clean. From what she saw, there were only a few blood drops, not enough for someone who had jumped.

"Speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the line. Has it been cleaned off?"

"No, there wasn't that much."

"You said his head was smashed in?"

"It was, but there wasn't much blood. I'll leave you to it then."

The worker left and John began to retrace West's last few hours.

"Right, so Andrew West got on the train somewhere. Or did he? There's no ticket on the body. How did he end up here?"

"It's obvious John." She muttered as the train's rails switched, "Think about it."

He bent down and examined them, slowly coming to a realization.

"The points." She said.

"Yes!"

"West wasn't killed here, that's why there was so little blood."

"How long have you known?"

"Since we met Joe Harrison. Come on, we need to meet dad at Harrison's apartment."

She turned and head back towards the main roads. John walked next to her.

"Meet him? He knows?"

"He's been following us since the start. You didn't really think he'd pass this up because of sibling spite, do you?"

After letting the worker know they were leaving, they grabbed a cab and rode to a block away from the flat. At the corner of the street, they met Sherlock and started walking.

"Missile defense plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it." Sherlock said, "Despite what people think, we do still have a secret service."

"Yeah, I know, I met them." John said.

"Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the later. We're here."

They walked up a flight of stairs, and Etheldrea began to pick the lock.

"Sherlock, what if there's someone in?"

"There isn't."

The door opened and they all dashed inside. Sherlock immediately headed for the window while John looked confused.

"Who's Joe Harrison again?"

"Don't you remember? We met him yesterday. Lucy Harrison's brother; was to be Andrew West's brother in law." She told him.

"He stole the memory stick and killed him." Sherlock said as he looked over the window sill.

"Then why'd he do it?" John asked.

Just then, they heard the door rattling, and all looked towards it.

"Let's ask him."

Slowly walking towards the door, John pulled out his gun and held it to his side, only bringing it up when Harrison tried to attack them with his bike. He stood down, put the bike down, and raised his hands.

"Inside, sit down." Sherlock said.

Etheldrea guarded the living room's door while Sherlock and John stood on opposite ends of the room, all keenly watching Joe Harrison.

"Why did you kill Andrew West?" Sherlock asked.

"It was an accident, I swear it was."

"But stealing the plans for the missile defense program wasn't an accident, was it?"

"I started dealing drugs. I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands. Serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean usually, he's so careful. But that night, after a few pints, he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans, beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick. You hear about these things getting lost, ended up on rubbish tips and whatnot. And there it was and I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy getting the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew. We started to fight, and I pushed him. He fell right through the open door and down the stairs. I was going to call an ambulance, but it was too late. So I dragged him in here. I just sat in the dark, thinking."

"When a neat little idea popped into your head. The train carried Andrew West far away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't hot a stretch of track with curves."

"Do you still have it then?" John asked, "The memory stick?"

Harrison nodded, and stood to go retrieve it. As he did, they three huddled together.

"Distraction over, the game continues." Sherlock told them.

"Maybe that's over too. We've heard nothing from the bomber."

"Five pips remember. It's a countdown. We've only had four."

* * *

When the three were back in Baker Street, Etheldrea walked into the kitchen, not bothering to take her scarf and coat off. She rummaged through a few drawers before pulling out an envelope with an 'Ah ha!'

She walked into the living room, sat at the desk, and called Sherlock over. He ignored her at first, but she was persistent.

"Why can't we do this tomorrow?"

"Because I want to do it now. We need to change bullet point number two. In fact, I think we need to update the whole thing."

"_I_ think we don't need to."

Etheldrea glowered at him, "Dad."

"Alright, alright."

"Bullet two should be written out."

"Ahem, no, it shouldn't. I reserve the right to exclude you from any and all cases."

"Not any more. I can handle the cases better now that I've had some experience. Let's change it to you have the right to request I step down from certain cases."

"_Request_?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, _request_. You can't stop me from actively joining cases. If John can, so can I."

"John is thirty years older than you."

"Thirty-three, actually."

Said thirty-nine tear old sat in his chair, hiding his laughter as they argued. Etheldrea was determined, and Sherlock was unrelenting. An hour later, the entire pact was being rewritten and now John was becoming part of it. When everything was agreed upon, they signed their names. Before she put it back in the envelope, Etheldrea looked it over and read it to herself.

_We, __Sherlock Holmes__, Etheldrea Holmes, and __**John Watson**__, agree to every following point in regard to solving cases._

_John Watson has authority to determine if anyone is unfit to be involved in cases, physically and slightly mentally. Persons may listen to client's state their case, but will __always_ _**not be able**__ participate until in full health._

_Sherlock Holmes has authority to exclude Etheldrea Holmes from cases that would be considered a high danger to John Watson. She does have the chance to argue, and __will always be denied__ will have the chance to change Sherlock Holmes' mind. Once Etheldrea Holmes has reached the age of eighteen, this portion is __rendered worthless__remains valid__ rendered worthless __remain__- render-__ remain__- __**rendered worthless, and that's final!**_

_Etheldrea Holmes has authority to decide when it is appropriate for her to leave school for a case. Her father, Sherlock Holmes, cannot call her in or pull her from class just because he found a sample of a leaf or similar, especially while she is in the middle of a test. __Mainly because she receives hell from her teachers the next day. _

_There's no need to write that in. _

_Dad, why are you writing? Wait, why am I_

_What are you_

_Any disagreement regarding this Pact must be reviewed within three days and settled within a day after. If no agreement is reached, argument must be brought to the attention of Mrs. Hudson. _

_Signed, Etheldrea W Holmes, __Sherlock S Holmes__, __**John H Watson**_

Much later, now nearly eleven at night, Sherlock sat in his chair, his knees to his chest, yelling at the television show. Etheldrea sat on the sofa once again, reading. John sat at the desk, typing on his laptop, and preparing to leave.

"No, no, no! Course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

"Knew it was dangerous, getting you into crap telly. You're worse than your daughter."

"Not a patch on Connie Prince."

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?"

"Not yet. Tomorrow Etheldrea and I are going to his place in Sussex, you're welcome to join."

"We'll see. You know, I'm still waiting."

"Hm?"

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up that fake painting a lot quicker."

"It didn't do_ you_ any good, did it?"

"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, "Girl's, you're both pretty. I'm trying to read."

John shook his head and stood up, "I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge. Oh, and milk, we need milk."

"I'll get some." Sherlock called.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And some beans, then?"

Sherlock nodded.

As soon as he heard the door close, Sherlock stood and walked into the kitchen. Etheldrea heard him moving about, and he emerged a while later with cups of tea. He placed one in front of her, and then set his on the table. He grabbed his laptop before sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

Etheldrea put the book down and took a sip. She set the cup back on the saucer and frowned, it seemed a bit off. It was almost two sweet. She took another sip, bigger, and it held the same taste.

"Dad, what kind of tea did you make?"

"Earl Grey."

"No, you didn't. This doesn't have the same taste."

He ignored her and typed something on his blog. She glared at him and looked down at his cup, which was half empty.

"May I try a sip of yours then? To see if there's a difference."

He gestured towards the cup, "Be my guest."

She leaned forwards and grabbed it. Surprisingly, his tea held the exact same taste. She set it back down, and relaxed back. She picked up her book again and started to read, but after a few minutes, the words started to run together. She set it down, blinked a bit, and shook her head. Sherlock stood up and walked to the kitchen, bringing and setting the cups in the sink. Then he waited by the door, watching Etheldrea carefully.

". . . Dad, what did you put in the tea?" she asked as her vision began to cross.

"Just some sleeping syrup. You didn't take as much as I was hoping, but enough to knock you out for a few hours at least."

"Dad! This goes against the pact!"

"I don't recall our pact saying anything about drugging your tea."

Etheldrea glared and slowly stood up. The syrup was already taking affect, and her movements were very dawdling. She walked towards her father and just as she passed the table, fell to her knees. Sherlock grabbed and tried to lift her back to the sofa, but she fought back though weakly. She tried shoving him away and kicking and wiggling, but he only gained a tighter grip and she only lost energy. Finally, she stopped, and he adjusted so that she leaned against his chest.

"Promise me you'll come back." She whispered.

"I can't."

She felt herself being lifted, and then placed on the sofa once more. A moment passed and then a pillow was placed under her head. She felt a hand brush her hair back and his lips press against her temple.

"Goodnight, my Wanderer."


	7. The Great Game Part 7

As he expected, the doors to the pool house were unlocked. Cautiously, he walked in and to the pool. The lights were on, the water swishing back and forth. It was hot and smelled of chlorine. He looked around, up and down, trying to spot the bomber.

He held up the UBS, "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this."

From behind him, the doors opened, and the footsteps entered the room. He turned and to his horror, John Watson stood.

"Evening." John said, "This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock?"

"John, what the hell?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

Slowly, Sherlock faced John, and for a split moment he felt fear, betrayal, and hurt. This was John Watson, the man who helped Sherlock, helped Etheldrea. The man who worried over them, who cared for Etheldrea like a friend, maybe even a niece, or even daughter. The man who had entered their lives and had made it better. He had run alongside them without a second thought. He couldn't be Moriarty, he just couldn't.

Then, the entire puzzle clicked as John opened the large jacket he was wearing. Underneath was a bomb, just like all the others.

"What . . . would you like me to make him say . . . next? Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear."

"Stop it."

"Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died . . . I stopped him. I can stop John Watson and . . . even your little girl. Stop their hearts. It would be so . . . easy. What with the bomb and Etheldrea . . . drugged."

"Who are you?"

A door opened at the back of the pool. A man, Moriarty, walked in wearing a smug expression on his face.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call. Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock pointed the gun.

All he did was smile, "Jim Moriarty. Hi. . . Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose, that was rather the point. Don't be silly someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty."

Jim was walking closer to them, pausing at the end of the corner, "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you."

"Dear Jim," Sherlock muttered, "Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

"I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, ok, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even got your little girl in on the action, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear? What about when you learned it was your Dear Drea on the other end of the phone?"

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!"

"I will stop you."

"No you won't."

Sherlock looked towards John, "Are you alright?"

"You can talk Jonny Boy, go ahead."

John merely nodded.

He held out the UBS, "Take it."

"Mm? Oh, that. The missile plans." He gave them a kiss before throwing them into the pool, "Boring! I could have got them anywhere."

John dashed and caught Moriarty around the neck in a choke hold, "Sherlock, run!"

Moriarty laughed, "Good! Very good!"

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."

Sherlock saw John's eyes widen in horror, and presumed a red laser was pointed on his head now. John let go, and stepped back, his hands raised.

Moriarty smoothed out his suit, "Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh let me guess. I get killed."

"Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I will burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

He smiled knowingly, "But we both know that's not quite true. I really must know, did darling little Etheldrea enjoy her gifts? Did she tell you about them, that they're from me? I'm sure you might have figured it out. I gave her a note after I sent the box. 'All good things come in threes and you've only had two.' Did she tell you about the third note I gave her? Has she figured out the threat that goes with it?"

Sherlock didn't say a word.

Moriarty shook his head, "Such a shame. Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty retaliated with a faux gasp, "Cos I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would. And just a teensy bit . . . disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty turned and walked through the side door.

"Catch. You. Later."

"No you won't."

As soon as he was gone, Sherlock rushed and ripped the jacket and bomb away from John, sliding them to the other side of the pool.

"All right? Are you alright?" he asked urgently.

Breathlessly, John replied, "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm fine. Sherlock."

Sherlock quickly checked the door for Moriarty, in case he was coming back. John collapsed and leaned against the showers. Sherlock came back and paced the pool, itching his head with the gun,a dn running over the past ten minutes in his head.

"Are you ok?" John asked.

"Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine. That er . . . thing that you . . . that you did, that um . . . you offered to do . . . that was, um . . . good."

"I'm glad no-one saw that."

"Mm?"

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"People do little else."

"Did, did you really drug Etheldrea?"

"I had to; she would have followed me otherwise."

"She's not going to be happy about that. We'll have to change the contract around until she's happy."

"We can deal with it in the morning."

They chuckled a bit, and John started to stand, only for both of them to see red lasers hit them. The side door opened and Moriarty flaunted back in.

"Sorry, boys. I'm sooo changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock looked towards John, his plan formulated and only needing his approval. John nodded once, and Sherlock turned to face him, aiming the gun.

"Probably my answer has already crossed yours."

Moriarty hardly seemed threatened, smiling lightly at the boys. As seconds passed, Sherlock waited for him to say something, but then the room echoed the sound of . . . Stayin' Alive? Confused, he looked to John and then back at Moriarty. The villain sighed and seemed almost apologetic.

"Do you mind if I get that?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head, "Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life."

Moriarty pulled a phone from his pocket, "Hello? . . . Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"

He looked entirely annoyed and mouthed to Sherlock, "Sorry."

Sherlock shook his head and mouthed back, "It's fine."

A few moments of listening later, "SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will _skin_ you."

Utterly disappointed, he walked forward and apologized, "Sorry, wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?"

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock. So will you're darling daughter." He said, walking away, "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

With a snap of his fingers, Moriarty's sniper was gone, and the men were left alone. For a while, they waited until it was clear they were safe. Then Sherlock helped John to his feet, and the two took a cab to Baker Street. John called Sarah and let her know he wouldn't be over, the night's events a bit daunting to him still.

When they entered the flat, Etheldrea was still lying on the sofa. Sherlock walked over, removed his coat, and draped it over her. John had gone to go make some tea, and he entered the room again to see Sherlock in thought.

"What's up?" he asked him.

"I've been . . . thinking."

"About?"

"I have no doubt that we'll be seeing Jim Moriarty again. When he returns, we'll need to be prepared."

John nodded, "Of course."

"There's something I would like to ask of you."

"Anything."

"Should something happen to me, I would like Etheldrea to be placed under your care."

"Sherlock, nothing is going to happen so long as I have anything to say about it."

"We can't always predict his moves. Take Etheldrea, I thought she would be safe in Baker Street, even under my brother's eyes, but he was still able to get past that. So, if something does happen, I want it to be you look after her."

"I don't really know what to say."

"John, I can't think of anyone else better than you."

John sighed and thought for a few moments, and then he nodded, "Alright. Sure. If anything happens, you have my word."

Sherlock's mouth twitched, "Thank you."

"Besides, if she went to your brother, I'm sure he'd start grooming her into a mini-Mycroft. Can you imagine her carrying around an umbrella?"

"She used to."

"Really?"

"Yep. She'd steal his ties, grab an umbrella and run about saying she was the ruler of England."

"When did she stop?"

"When she found my coat and scarf more adequate to fall asleep in. There are pictures and video, I'm sure."

John laughed, "I would _absolutely_ love to see that."

He sat down and drank his tea while Sherlock kneeled down by Etheldrea. He removed the coat and then lifted her into his arms. She stirred a bit but didn't wake, and he carried her to her room. Later, he knew he would be in trouble.

* * *

He most definitely was. Around seven the next morning, John was woken up by her shouting. Rubbing his eyes, and stretching, he got out of bed and walked down stairs. Etheldrea was still in her pj's as she ranted at Sherlock, who looked impassive.

"You had no right! None at all! I could very well take care of myself, and it's about time you realized that! It's things like this that might make me lose my trust in you! But I can forgive all that. The only thing I can't forgive is you not waking me up to let tell me you were alright, that John was alright. You could have done that, and I would have forgiven the entire thing!"

"I believe you were a bit drugged."

"I woke up about an hour after you left. Which reminds me, we need to change the pact."

She grabbed the envelope from one of the kitchen drawers and a pen, and then handed it to Sherlock.

"You will add to your pact that you won't drug the tea anymore." She said.

"And if I don't?"

"John!"

John officiated the re-write of the pact, and the three finally came to an agreement and more. Sherlock was not allowed to drug anymore tea, nor cause any distraction that would hinder Etheldrea from a case. However, Sherlock would only agree if Etheldrea was to follow his every word during a case. For good measure, only John had access to most medications.

Once that was taken care of, Etheldrea had them sit down and tell her everything that had happened. John relayed his story with Sherlock filling in certain points. Then Sherlock mentioned what Moriarty had told them.

"You didn't tell us it was from him." Sherlock said.

"I didn't know until two days ago."

"You weren't going to tell us."

"No, I wasn't. He gave you five puzzles, he gave me three. I figured it something for me to figure out on my own."

"I want to see them."

Etheldrea nodded and went to grab the papers. She handed the small card and photo to Sherlock who looked them over.

"The third wasn't on paper, it was on the pager. It said 'A' and 'S'. Do you know what it means?"

Sherlock paused a moment before shaking his head and standing up, "Nope. Not at all. Now, go get ready. Your Uncle is expecting us."

John looked confused, "Didn't Moriarty throw the UBS into the pool. It'd be damaged now, wouldn't it?"

Sherlock smirked and pulled out a black stick from his pocket, "Would you like to come with us John?"

He thought for a moment and decided, "Why not?"

* * *

**And so ends The Great Game. I want you guys to know that the next chapter or two right after this one. We're going to start getting into some younger Etheldrea and younger Sherlock because I love writing curtness ****and there may or may not be some angst coming soon.**


	8. Holmes History Part 1

**Turns out I must have clicked Don't Save when I finished writing the chapter. Anyway, here's the real Chapter 8, sort of. Rewriting is a pain because you can't remember how it was exactly. Sorry about the mix up. **

A sleek black car picked them up and drove them to Mycroft's mansion. They were led inside and greeted by the owner by a flight of stairs. Mycroft stood stiffly, his ever present umbrella at his side.

"Etheldrea, why don't you show John around while your father and I talk."

The brothers left them and Etheldrea turned to John, "_Would_ you like a tour? There's not much I can show you, but it should be enough to keep us entertained while they talk."

John nodded, "Sure. I'm sure there are some stories around here that you could tell me."

"Not really. I'm certainly not going to tell you anything."

"Come on, not even about when you pretended to be your Uncle?"

"First I'm going to kill dad, and then I'm going to kill you."

She showed him around the first floor where the kitchen, living room, dining, etc., etc., was. It hadn't changed much since the last time she had been here. Upstairs, there were only a few rooms she could show him, like her and Sherlock's old rooms. Mycroft's was locked.

Her room was dimly lit, with white walls, wood floor and wood framing. As she had lived here when she was a baby, a crib sat in one corner of the room, next to the bed. The bedding was purple, matching nearly every decoration in the room. The rug, play chairs, lamps, and curtains. There was a bookshelf with small toys, and two other's filled with children's books. John looked around and noticed in the closet there was a black umbrella much too tall for a little girl, and he smirked to himself.

"This rooms pretty clean for a toddler." He mused.

"Well, I spent most of my time outdoors. I would, however, spend hours drawing in paper journals I made myself. Facts about bugs, flowers, rocks. Anything I found interesting ended up in a box here so I could analyze and draw everything without having to go to bed."

"Drawing? I never begged you as an artist."

"I couldn't write very well at the time, what with me being three and all. Also, I can't draw. Fine Art is lost on me."

They exited and walked to Sherlock's old room. His room had the same white walls and wooden flooring, but the color scheme was much darker. His bedding was basic black, and the windows had sheer black curtains. The bookshelves were dark wood as was the bed tables. A desk was covered with loose papers, and chemistry equipment, as was most of the floor on one side. That side also had a guard rail made out of rope nailed to the wall. High enough to keep a small child away, but short enough for a man with long legs to step over.

"Why does Mycroft keep these rooms? It's a bit obvious you two don't have plans to move back."

"I think he doesn't know what to do with the rooms. He's not here as much as he's at his office. There's really nothing he could convert them into and make them useful."

Etheldrea left the room, and John took another glance around. At the desk, a drawer was slightly open, and is curiosity got the better of him. He pulled it open slightly and discovered small paper booklets. Each was nothing but pictures sloppily drawn with crayon or marker. They each also had different topics. One was about ladybugs judging by the picture on the front, and another was about daisy's. At the corner of each booklet, there was a small _By Etheldrea_ written in black, neat, pen.

"John? Is everyth- he kept them?"

Etheldrea walked back in to the room and grabbed one of the books. She turned it around and opened it, checking it over. She laughed to herself and stuck it back in the draw.

"I wonder why." She mumbled as she left the room.

Back down stairs, Etheldrea led him through the kitchen and out the back door. They walked into the garden, Etheldrea's favorite place. Being the beginning of April, the garden was just blooming. Roses, hydrangeas, wisterias, and every other flower you can imagine filled the area, going on for meters. A brick path led towards a greenery wall far away from them. Along the path, trees lined the way, sprouting tiny flowers. To his right, John saw an enormous three paned window, and a table and chairs set.

Etheldrea was walking around the gardens, brushing her hands over the flowers. She stopped and looked around, a small smile on her face. John noted she didn't have as much tension anymore.

"I'd spend hours out here playing." She said, "I'd crawl under the bushes and try to climb the trees. I had a shoe box that I would fill and sometimes I'd bring in bugs, grandmother hated it. Whenever I needed to hide, I'd come out here."

She turned and walked down the path, reaching up to give the tree branches a tug. A few leaves and petals fell down as she walked. John watched her with a smile, and then walked over to the table and took a seat. A moment later, he was startled by the appearance of an older man who set a large leather bound book in front of him.

"My name is Peter Maunder. I'm the head caretaker here. I believe this is something you'd be interested in, Dr. Watson. Also, talk to Mrs. Hudson about some home videos. The Madam entrusted her with them before she left."

As quick as he had come, he was gone. John shook his head and turned to the book. Upon opening the first page, he discovered it was a photo album.

_The Holmes Household_

_1994-1999_

The first photos were close-ups of a small newborn baby, Etheldrea. In one she was sleeping, in another a hand was feeding her a bottle, and in another she was grinning a toothless smile at something off camera. He turned the next page to a surprising photo. It was a full body shot of Sherlock sitting at a table, Etheldrea a bundle in his arms. As he held her, there was a smile on his face and a look of adoration in his eyes.

As he flipped through the album, he'd laugh at photos like Mycroft holding a screaming Etheldrea at arm's length, a white spot that could only be baby spittle on the shoulder of his suit. He'd also smile warmly at photos like Sherlock holding Etheldrea up to a fountain, her arms reaching for the water. Farther into the album, he found a photo of a two year old Etheldrea in a purple dress, Sherlock knelt behind her and standing her up. A cone shaped hat on the ground declared it as a birthday. The photo next to it showed the Holmes family sat around a dining table. Mrs. Holmes sat at the center with Sherlock, holding Etheldrea, on her left, and Mycroft, looking keenly at the cake, on her right.

A few pages later, he found the photos he had wished to see last night. The first couple was of Etheldrea, parading around in a white dress with a red tie haphazardly around one shoulder and under the other arm. In her hands she carried the black umbrella and used it to steady herself as she walked. The second couple was of her lying down in a cushion of Sherlock's coat. Her head rested on the collar and the sleeve was curled in her hand.

"Oh, no!"

John looked up to see Etheldrea, with cheeks bright red, watching him. John smirked and flipped to another page. The next picture was of Sherlock and Etheldrea seated next to him. It was about dusk, and the pair was seated under a tree next to a small stream. He had an arm wrapped around her, and a book on his lap.

"That was taken just past the tree line- I can show you."

"Alright." He said, closing the book and tucking it under his arm.

"You can leave that here. Someone will come pick it up."

He smirked again, "Now why would I want that to happen?"

Etheldrea glared and then turned around, walking down the path. John followed her and pushed in-between the trees. True to her word, the scene in the picture looked similar to what was in front of him.

"Dad used to take me out here after dinner. He'd have a case report with him, or just a book. We'd sit underneath that tree and spent what was left of the evening."

Startling him, Sherlock walked through the trees and added, "Sometimes even longer than that."

"Of course, then Uncle Mycroft would send someone to look for us. He always hated when we were out of his sight."

"Well, you did give him reason to be paranoid."

"I was a baby, exploring was my passion."

Sherlock smirked and went to sit down underneath the tree. Etheldrea followed suit and sat next to him.

"Did you get everything taken care of then?" John asked.

"Yes. Mycroft was delighted, threatened me with knighthood, again."

"What else did you talk about? You were in there for nearly an hour." Etheldrea asked.

"I was discussing Moriarty with him."

"Are we going to be getting bodyguards installed at the door now?"

"No, but he has upped Baker Street, and its residents excluding you to level six security."

"No fair. Your communication can't be traced, but mine can?"

"Less than two years, Etheldrea. Then you'll be down to level two, or so we think."

"I can't wait."

Sherlock looked over to John, "Would you give us a bit of privacy? Etheldrea and I need to talk."

John nodded, "Of course." And then disappeared back through the trees.

Etheldrea looked slightly nervous, "We need to talk? Is this still about me leaving Baker Street? Because I'm really sick of it, and I mean, come on dad. If you were in my shoes with John, you would have done the same thing."

"No, it's something else. Do you rem-, that is, are you . . . School. What happened at school Tuesday, are you alright?"

Etheldrea gave a sigh of relief, "That's what this is about? I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not. You don't deserve to be treated like that, the bathroom incident, that boy hitting you. All the years being treated like rubbish from those people who dare call themselves better. I want to do something but," he shook his head, "I know that I would only make the situation worse."

Etheldrea smiled sadly, "Don't beat yourself up over this, please. I choose to go to school with them. I choose to accept it. I choose to stay in the same grade as them."

"Why? You could easily get away from it."

"Because then it wouldn't be fair to someone else in the same boat. I shouldn't get any special privileges just because I come from a 'sophisticated' background, not if the next person can't."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because harassment is a never ending cycle, and if you're the strangest one, then you'll attract more attention, thereby leaving others unaffected. You've been asking me why so much; let me ask you. Why do you care?"

"I'm you father, all I want is to know that your safe- And so far, it's not happening."

Etheldrea sighed, "Dad, be honest. This really is about Moriarty, isn't it?"

"Yes." He sighed, "I want you to know that . . . things are going to be different."

"How so?"

"I want to know where you are going at all times. You can't leave the flat just to go to the library, or the morgue, or the shop, or anywhere without telling me."

She nodded, "Alright, I can do that."

"If you're out late at night, I want to be with you. Even if it's so much as outside the door."

"Ok, I will let you know."

Sherlock, knowing she would, stood up and brushed himself off. He looked down to Etheldrea and held out a hand to pull her up.

"Now, shall we go see what other embarrassing photos John has found of us?"

* * *

_**Earlier:**_

"Are you sure Moriarty knows?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes. He worked in the hospital for some time; it wouldn't have been hard for him to gain access to her records."

Sherlock paced the room while Mycroft looked on. The older brother shook his head and sighed.

"Is it so hard to tell her the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then how to do plan to avoid her finding out?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just- I can't let her know."

"Is it so bad if she knows only _her _part in it?"

"I'd like to avoid the whole confrontation. She's older; she'll know that I'm holding back something. She easily believed the lie at four, but now, she'll question more."

"Sherlock, there is no possible way you can avoid it forever. If she ever questions, she'll want to know the truth."

"It'll crush her."

"She's a Holmes."

"She's also a Smith. That's how hereditary works Mycroft and I should have paid more attention to that while she grew up. She's more responsive than she likes to believe. She doesn't let it go, she just holds it in, and I- I've never understood how to connect with her in that way."

"Are you sure? You handled that incident when she was five just fine."

"That's because Mummy told me what to do."

Sherlock stopped his pacing to look out the window. Etheldrea was disappeared, but John sat at the courtyard table, flipping through a book with a smile on his face.

"Then think about how to handle it. If you took the time to explain it to her, I'm sure she'd understand."

"Mycroft, you don't understand-"

"Don't understand what? That she loves you? That she does her best to live up to you? That you're her hero even though you deny it? I understand quite fine Sherlock. I know that if she finds out, she will be heartbroken, but it'll be even worse if she finds out on her own."

Glaring, he asked, "Do you understand what she thinks? What she's under the impression of? She doesn't think she'll ever see her mother, and she's fine with that. She hasn't asked about her since she was five. But she thinks it's _always_ been the two of us, and she values that. She doesn't know what happened; she doesn't know how I betrayed her."

"Sherlock, you hardly betrayed her when you weren't even aware-"

"I'm her father, I should have known, I should have-"

"You didn't even want her!"

Sherlock huffed and propped his arm against the window, "To avoid this then, to avoid Moriarty telling her. If I was to tell her, how do I do it then? How do I tell her she wasn't wanted?"

He thought back to his younger days. Amy Smith hadn't been a real relationship, more of an experiment. When she came to him with the news that she was pregnant, he told her he'd give her the money to take care of it. Gladly, she accepted, and that should have been the end of it. However, Smith's parents found out and they made it strictly clear that it wasn't going to happen.

A year later, he woke up to a phone call from a hospital, and later learned that Amy Smith had moved far away, from University, her parents, and the baby.

"I can't help you Sherlock, this is something you have to tell her yourself. Will you tell her everything then? From her birth, to her time with her grandparents, and after." Mycroft asked.

"They aren't deserving of that title, no one who- never mind about that. However, I suppose I'll have to." He replied sullenly, and then sighed, "Everything was so much easier when she was a child."

"Children grow up. If you don't tell her before Moriarty does, it'll only make it worse. I think you should tell her soon, and before her birthday."

"Why before her birthday?"

"Do you remember the promise I made her when she turned eleven? When she turns seventeen, no one will be watching her, her phone won't be tracked, and you know she'll spend the entire day and night out. Moriarty might try something."

"I'll tell her now." Sherlock replied, standing straight and turning around.

As he left and Mycroft called out, "Good luck."

Mycroft stayed where was, waiting until he could see Sherlock entered past the tree line in the garden. A few moments later, John emerged and went back to looking at the book. Finally, after a while, Sherlock and Etheldrea emerged. Etheldrea looked happy, walking close to her father and then looking annoyed when she saw John with the book. Nothing in her body language told him she was mad or had received the news.

He sighed, stood and walked to another room. Now that he had the missile plans, he had some phone calls to make. The drama that would no doubt happen one day would become a small thought in the back of his mind. After all, it wasn't his problem.

**Again, sorry about the chapter confusion. Have no fear, more is soon to come. Another Holmes History, and then the Geek Interrupter, and my own case. **


	9. Holmes History Part 2

**I'm still really sorry about the chapter error last time. I don't check the chapter on this site before I upload it, and I should probably start doing that. So, here's more cutesiness! And Abigail, because I feel like I've been neglecting her. This time, home videos! **

John was relaxing with a cup of tea in the afternoon. The telly was on, but he wasn't paying much attention, waiting for the moment Etheldrea would leave to meet her friend. If she knew what he was going to do, she'd try everything to stop him. Sherlock probably didn't care, but he had determined Etheldrea was thoroughly embarrassed by the photo album. Imagine if she knew he was going to ask Mrs. Hudson about the home videos?

Etheldrea emerged from her room ready to go. She looked at Sherlock at the kitchen table while he fiddled with another one of his experiments.

"Dad, I'm going to Hyde Park. Is there a specific time you want me back?"

Barley giving her a glance, "No."

"Later."

She left, and John waited until he heard the front door close. Then he stood up and walked down stairs. He knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door and waited.

"Hello dearie, what can I help you with?" the woman asked with a smile.

"At Mycroft's house, yesterday, a man gave me a photo album with pictures when Etheldrea was little. He also said that you might have some videos."

She hustled him in, and directed towards the couch.

"I'll be right back; I have the box in my closet."

A moment later, Mrs. Hudson set a standard sized box next to him. It was filled with VHS tapes, each with a white label with a date and event. She dug around the box, searching for a specific tape.

"Etheldrea was about two years old when I met her. After Sherlock helped me with . . . well, when he helped me with my own case, he introduced us. She was the sweetest little girl, always smiling and exploring. She was curious about everything, still is. Sherlock had a nickname for her because of it."

John nodded, "I know. I swear, she finishes a new book every hour,"

"Oh probably, she reads faster than anyone. Ah! Here we go, Etheldrea's fifth birthday."

Mrs. Hudson walked over to her TV and popped the video in. Static filled the scene and then showed the garden at Mycroft's. Mrs. Hudson appeared to be operating as it panned around, showing Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft, and Sherlock. They were seated at the table outside in the garden, each with a plate of cake in front of them except in Mycroft's case, the cake was all gone. At one empty chair, a half-finished cake sat.

The camera turned right and focused towards a bush on a small card board box that was propped up with a stick. There seemed to be a string attached and led to another bush. The camera moved right and followed a different trail, a trail of white . . . things. At the end was young Etheldrea, and in her hands was a chuck of cake, and she ripped off small pieces to place on the ground. When she reached the box, she placed what was left of the cake under it, and then ran to a different bush.

"_Etheldrea," _Sherlock called,_ "What are you doing?"_

"_Shh! I'm trying to catch the rabbit that was eating my cake."_

"_Didn't you scare him off?"_

"_Yes, but then he came back and tried it again. That's why I put the cake on the table. Now, shh!"_

Behind the camera, Mrs. Hudson chuckled. She then followed the cake trail to a bunny that was slowly making its way. As soon as it was under, the string was pulled and the box fell down. The rabbit didn't even move. Etheldrea walked over to the box and carefully lifted it up. Calmly sitting there, the rabbit continued to eat the cat, not caring that a little girl had caught him. Etheldrea rolled her eyes and then walked back to the table. She sat down in her chair and ate her cake.

"_So, what's your plan with him now?" _Mycroft asked.

"_Nothing. He isn't eating my cake anymore."_

"_Actually he is, you gave him a quarter of yours."_

"_It's the part he ate. He's an odd rabbit. I think I'll name him Mycroft."_

"_After me?"_

"_Yeah. He eats a lot of cake, and he doesn't move very fast."_

Sherlock smirked at Mycroft's broody face. There was some laughing by Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes, and then the screen went to static.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, "That was a few weeks before the two moved. Then I had much more time to film. Choose any you want and pop them in. I'll just be stepping out for a while; I need to help a new employee soon."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John said.

"Anytime dear."

Mrs. Hudson left him alone and he looked through the box. A few months ago, he wouldn't have ever thought about doing this. But now, as he grew closer to the Holmes, he had some curiosity as to what their lives were like before Baker Street.

He looked around the box and found a few tapes that caught his eye. They were labeled, _Bathtime, Sherlock's Bedtime Story, and Etheldrea's First Deduction. _He grabbed the last one, and went to put it in.

Static filled the screen and then showed Mrs. Hudson's living room. The camera was upside down, pointed towards the door. Then, it was turned over the right way and pointed at the corner of the room at a Christmas tree. About three or four years old, Etheldrea sat in front of it, staring inquisitively at a snowmen paper wrapped gift. The camera zoomed in and out a few times, and then cut to a couple seconds later.

"_Thank you for the camera, Sherlock." _The voice of Mrs. Hudson said.

"_No need to thank me."_

The tall man came into view, and immediately grimaced, _"I thought you were going to use that to film Etheldrea, not me."_

The camera shook a bit as she laughed, _"Oh Sherlock, I plan on filming everything."_

"_Then start by filming her." _Sherlock pointed to Etheldrea as the camera panned, who was still staring at the gift.

"_Drea Dear, aren't you going to open your present?"_ Mrs. Hudson asked.

"_I think I know exactally what it is."_ The little girl stated.

"_Oh? What makes you say that?" _Sherlock asked.

"_It's a book, that's obbyis. But it's eight inches by four and a quarter. It's also an inch wide. If I press the top, I can feel bumps that make out a picture. On my Christmas List, I asked dad-"_

Mrs. Hudson coughed, interrupting her.

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, _"I asked 'Santa' for _The Pirate's Guide _and the book is exactally these sizes, and it has a bumpy picture on the front."_

"_There's only one way to know if your right." _Mrs. Hudson said.

Etheldrea opened the package and found the book she described. She gave a shriek of joy and cradled the book to her chest. Sherlock walked quickly over, picked her up, and spun her around before settling her against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"_My Little Wanderer, that was brilliant! An excellent deduction!" he cried, elated._

Etheldrea laughed, _"It was easy. A baby could do it."_

"_But a baby isn't as smart as you."_

"_What was your first daduckcion, daddy?"_

"_Deduction. I gathered that an old maid of ours was sleeping with the gardener."_

"_That's a better daduckcion than mine."_

"_Deduction. But it was your first. Your first deduction is always the most special, not matter the quality."_

The screen filled with static once more. John took the table out and switched it for another. He sat back, enjoying seeing this side to Sherlock and Etheldrea.

John laughed as the tape showed her wearing a paper hat and cardboard sword in her belt loop. Etheldrea's trousers were covered in dirt and leaves, as were her hands. She was digging in the ground, searching for something. In the background, there was a tree from which Sherlock poked his head from behind.

Silently, he crept out and towards her. He held out his hands, and before she could move, picked her up under the arms. She shrieked and tried wiggling away, but to no avail. In a last resort, she pulled out the cardboard sword and poked at his arms.

"_Etheldrea, you're filthier than a mud puddle. Stop squirming!"_

Etheldrea stopped wiggling and hung with her arms to her sides, her head down.

"_Thank you, now come on. You need a proper bath, and then lunch."_

Sherlock, still holding her arm's length, started walking towards the camera. There was a small smirk on her face, and then she was wiggling even hard, and dropped out of Sherlock's arms. She touched the ground and took off on a run, arcing back to the tree and attempting to climb up. Sherlock ran after her, and she ran away.

"_I'm Etheldrea Holmes, The Pirate Queen of London! And you'll never catch me you horrid traitor!"_

Sherlock groaned, _"Etheldrea, stop! We've been playing since the morning, come on, it's bath time"_

Still, she ran, zigzagging across the yard. As she jumped over the hole she'd been digging, Sherlock tripped in it and fell face first in the grass. Etheldrea stopped running, and rushed to help him.

"_Daddy, are you alright?"_

Sherlock glanced up at her, small black smears on his face and clothes. Slowly, he rested on his hands and knees, and then quickly grabbed Etheldrea tight to his chest. She shrieked, and laughed, and tried to fight, nearly knocking off his nose. But she stopped, shifted, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. Sherlock had a triumphant smile that, as he walked, slowly changed into a genuine one.

The tape ended. Static filled the screen. John composed himself a bit before switching tapes, as he had been laughing hard during the entire thing. He now certainly had a few nicknames he could call his flat mates, but he preferred living.

* * *

Etheldrea and Abigail walked along the sidewalk. They had met up, and then went to get lunch at a café nearby. Now they were just going where ever their feet took them. As they walked, Etheldrea recounted the Moriarty case.

"He drugged you? You're dad drugged you? Isn't that illegal?"

"No, not really. It was a legal substance used in the effort of providing sleep. Not exactly wanted or needed, but the point is, it won't be happening again."

"And what about Moriarty? Is he going to come back? Oh my god, what of he's watching us right now?"

"Don't know. Probably. Although, I don't really think we're worth his time. He's got bigger things to do, people to kill."

Abigail almost laughed, "How can you be so casual about this?"

Etheldrea shrugged, "I just am. People die every day, murdered by each other. I'm not much of an optimist. Anyway, what's going on at school?"

"Nothing really. There's an essay for History due next Wednesday, but I'm sure you're already done with that."

"I am."

"Did you know Mrs. Elbert's pregnant?"

"I knew it before she did."

Abigail laughed, "Of course. What about the dance coming up, in Edenbridge?"

"Dance?"

"You don't know? It's all everyone keeps talking about. It's put on by some dance hall, and they invite all students and parents. It's like a father-daughter, mother-son, kind of thing but it's also for kids to hang out. I asked my parents, and they said they'd consider going."

"Oh, right. That thing they have every year."

"Have you gone?"

"No, never have and never will."

"Why? Dances are so much fun!"

"Sure, sweaty people grinding their bodies against each other, girls in skin tight satin dresses that only just don't show off their underwear, if their wearing any. That sounds like so much fun."

"You've really never been to a dance have you?"

"The closest are the formal balls my Uncle drags us to every couple years or so."

The girls crossed a street and entered the park again. In the middle of a sentence, Etheldrea noticed a couple of teenage boys, heads ducked and body language apprehensive, walk through the tree line and then get out of site. She pulled Abigail's hand and moved towards them.

"What's going on?" Abigail asked.

Etheldrea whispered, "Shh. I think these two guys are up to something."

She pulled Abigail down, and they crawled towards them. The girls kneeled by a bush, ten feet away from the boys. Etheldrea couldn't pick up much conversation, but when she poked through the bushes, she saw the beginning of a drug deal. With a glance at Abigail, she pulled out her phone and dialed Lestrade.

"_Hello?"_

"Lestrade, it's Etheldrea." She whispered, "Would you please send an officer to the North Eastern side of Buckingham Palace Gardens. There appears to be a drug deal happening."

"_Hold on, a drug deal? Why are you watch-"_

"I'd hurry, they're nearly finished."

There was a sigh, _"Which road?"_

"Horse Guards."

"_I'll be there in five minutes."_

"That's not en-"

The phone hung up, and Etheldrea cursed. Five minutes wouldn't be enough, they'd be gone within two minutes.

She turned to Abigail, "Get out of here."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Abigail, please!"

"No."

"Fine. Then just stay here and don't make a sound. No matter what you think you hear, no noises."

Etheldrea crawled over to a cluster of trees and started to climb. She crawled to the branch closest to the teenagers, and then faux fell out of the tree, landing on her knees, and then falling to her side. The boys jumped back, and the seller turned angry while the buyer looked shocked.

"Hey! What'do you think you're doin'?" the one selling asked.

She stammered, "I-I-I was just resting, a-and-"

"Shut up! What'd you see?"

"N-N-nothing, nothing at all! I swear!"

"I don't think I believe you."

From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a pocket knife. He gripped it tightly and stalked towards her. There was a rustle of leaves next to her, and then Abigail ran out and tackled him. Without missing a beat, Etheldrea grabbed the knife which had dropped and tossed it behind her. Then she pulled Abigail and herself far back, away from the dealer.

The buyer hadn't moved; he was absolutely terrified. In one glance Etheldrea knew this was his first time buying.

"Everybody, stop! Don't move!" a voice behind them shouted.

Etheldrea turned to see Lestrade making his way, Donavan and another officer with him.

"Get down on the ground." He ordered, bushing the girls behind him.

The buyer hit the floor and covered his head, trembling. The dealer growled, but obeyed. The officer and Donavan made the arrests, and brought them to the car. Lestrade had the girl's give them their statements.

"Why do you always find trouble?" Lestrade asked Etheldrea.

She shrugged, "Genetics."

"I'd have to agree with you on that. Take care."

They left, and the girls went back to walking through the park. Abigail had a skip in her step and a giant smile on her face.

"Did you see that? I tackled him! I took him down!" she gushed.

Stifling a laugh, "Yeah, but what happened to staying put?"

"He had a knife, and he was coming after you."

"You don't think I don't know how to get out of that situation? You know I've been through worse."

"Yeah, but, I panicked. I didn't want to see you hurt."

Etheldrea felt a prick in her chest; it was tight and hurt a lot. But also felt sort of noble. She felt pride, and thrilled that Abigail was her friend. The friend who had saved her life, well, was under the impression she had saved her life. Her throat constricted a bit as she tried to swallow.

"Thank you." She said finally, "No one's ever treated me like you do."

Abigail smiled and gave her a giant hug, "You were willing to save my life, I was willing to save yours. It's what friends do."

"I'm glad you're my friend."

"Me too. Now come on, let's go get some ice cream to celebrate!"


End file.
